LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


Gl  FT    OF 


.;...£kuA 


C/^ss 


THE   GRAVER  THOUGHTS 


OF  A 


COUNTRY    PARSON. 


By  the  same  Author. 


UNIFORM   WITH    THIS    VOLUME. 

1. 
THE   RECREATIONS 

OF   A 

COUNTRY    PARSON. 

FIRST  AND  SECOND  SERIES. 
II. 

LEISURE  HOURS  IN  TOWN. 

1  volume.     12mo. 


TICKNOR    AND   FIELDS,    PUBLISHERS. 


THE 


GRAVER   THOUGHTS 


COUNTRY    PARSON 


BY  THE   AUTHOR  OP 

"  THE    RECREATIONS   OF   A   COUNTRY   PARSON,"     AND    "  LEISURE 
HOURS   LX   TOWN." 


BOSTON: 
TICKNOR    AND     FIELDS. 

1863. 


RIVERSIDE,  CAMBRIDGE: 
STEREOTYPED  AND  PRINTED  BY  H.  0.  HOUGHTOX. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
I.     SUNDAYS    LONG   AGO 7 

II.  HOW   GOD    FEELS    TOWARDS    MANKIND      .  24 

III.  THE    THORN   IN   THE    FLESH             .            .  .40 

IV.  THE    GIFT    OF    SLEEP             ....  60 
V.  JABEZ  :    HIS   LIFE   AND    HIS   PRAYER     .  .         77 

VI.     GAIN*  IN   THE    SAVIOUR'S   LOSS              .            .  95 

VII.    SPIRITUAL   INSENSIBILITY      .            .            .  .112 

VIII.    LIGHT    AT    EVENING 129 

IX.    A    GREAT    MULTITUDE    A    SAD    SIGHT     .  .      148 

X.     THE   RULING    OF    THE    SPIRIT     .            .            .  168 

XI.    BEARING   ABOUT    THE    DYING    OF    CHRIST  .      186 

XII.    THE    INCONSISTENT    WORSHIP     .            .           .  203 

XIII.  THE    VAGUENESS    AND    ENDLESSNESS    OF    HU 

MAN   ASPIRATIONS 221 

XIV.  COMFORT    TO    SODOM  ....  236 
XV.     THE    RESURRECTION   OF    THE    BODY      .           .      255 

XVI.    CHRISTIAN    SELF-DENIAL    ....  274 

XVII.     THE    GREAT    VOICE    FROM    HEAVEN         .  .      289 


165025 


I. 


SUNDAYS   LONG  AGO. 

HERE  is  a  subdued,  silvery  light  on  the 
sea  to-day,  and  the  hills  across  the  water 
look  like  blue  clouds.  The  air  is  so  still, 
that  you  may  hear  the  beating  of  the 
paddles  of  a  steamer  miles  distant,  unseen  in  the  veil 
of  mist.  There  has  been  drizzling  rain  at  intervals 
through  the  morning ;  and  the  road  by  the  sea-side, 
yesterday  ankle-deep  in  dust,  is  pleasantly  firm  and 
cool ;  and  the  trees,  just  beginning  to  be  touched  by 
the  Atlantic  breezes  of  the  early  days  of  September, 
look  green  again  as  in  May,  in  the  glints  of  silvery 
light  from  the  clouded  sun.  You  may  see  many  fair 
scenes  within  the  compass  of  Britain  :  but  yesterday 
morning,  when  the  sky  was  sapphire-blue,  and  the 
sunshine  was  the  brightest ;  —  when  that  expanse  of 
sea  shut  in  by  noble  hills  was  glassy  smooth,  and  the 
yellow  corn-fields  round,  bounded  by  green  hedges, 
looked  so  still  and  rich  in  the  quiet  air,  not  without 
a  touch  of  bracing  crispness  ;  you  would  have  said 
that  there  could  hardly  be  anything  fairer  in  the 
world  than  this  bit  of  the  homely  Clyde. 

Milton  was  wont  to   declare   that  in  the  autumn 


8  SUNDAYS  LONG  AGO. 

days,  when  the  leaves  are  changing  and  falling,  his 
poetic  genius  quite  deserted  him  ;  and  he  could  not 
write  a  line.  But  in  the  spring-time,  when  the  sap 
began  to  stir  in  the  trees,  and  all  nature  to  revive,  the 
life  around  him  thrilled  his  heart  though  it  could  not 
reach  his  eyes  ;  and  the  amanuensis  could  hardly  keep 
pace  with  the  flow  of  unpremeditated  song.  One  does 
not  wonder  at  the  spring  burst ;  but  it  seems  curious 
that  the  quiet,  thoughtful  days  of  autumn,  which  waken 
many  old  remembrances  in  most  men,  should  have  so 
chilled  and  disheartened  the  great  poet.  Many  people 
can  say,  that  there  is  hardly  any  influence  that  so  stirs 
them  to  vague  feelings  and  impressions  which  would 
be  poetry  in  the  hands  of  one  who  was  able  to  give 
them  expression,  as  the  clear,  still  air,  and  the  motion 
less  autumn  woods  in  the  beautiful  autumn  sunshine. 
It  is  a  season  in  which  to  recall  the  days  that  are 
gone :  and  sitting  down  here,  on  the  steps  which  lead 
to  this  pretty  Gothic  church,  let  us  think  of  Sundays 
long  ago.  The  present  writer,  for  a  certain  sufficient 
reason,  has  this  morning  been  reading  over  certain 
pages,  bearing  truths  and  counsels  which  have  been 
addressed  to  two  Christian  congregations,  one  in  the 
country  and  the  other  in  the  town  ;  and  altering  a 
word  here  and  there.  And  in  reading  some  of  these 
pages,  how  strangely  there  comes  back  the  feeling  of 
the  old  quiet  Sundays,  far  away  !  And  the  season  has 
decided  what  kind  of  Sunday  shall  come  most  plainly 
back.  It  is  the  autumn  Sunday,  with  its  morning 


SUNDAYS  LONG  AGO.  9 

stillness :  with  the  clear  hills  round :  with  the  bright 
dew  on  the  grass :  with  the  yellow  fields  bounded  by 
the  green  hedgerows :  with  the  river  murmuring  by, 
under  the  gray  churchyard  wall :  with  the  aged  oaks 
round  the  little  church  just  touched  into  greater 
beauty  by  the  slight  morning  frosts  :  with  an  influ 
ence  in  the  air  that  seems  to  brace  up  mind  and  body 
together:  with  the  quiet  country  people  sitting  on  the 
gravestones  before  service,  resting  after  their  miles 
of  walking  over  the  crisp  rustling  leaves.  Turning 
a  new  leaf  in  life,  my  reader,  you  know  how  misty 
your  former  mode  of  living  soon  grows  in  your  re 
membrance  :  it  is  only  now  and  then  that  the  old  time 
comes  over  you ;  and  you  seem  to  breathe  the  air  and 
to  be  surrounded  by  the  little  cares  and  interests  of 
those  departed  days.  And  even  when  these  come 
back  most  vividly,  they  serve  only  to  make  you  feel 
the  more  deeply  how  completely  the  old  days  are 
gone. 

I  suppose  that  almost  everybody  feels  that  the 
Sundays  of  life  are  much  better  remembered  than 
the  series  of  any  ordinary  week-day.  Sunday  has 
always  a  character  of  its  own :  whereas  Tuesday  in 
one  week  need  not  be  the  least  like  Tuesday  in  the 
next  week,  in  occupation,  in  scene,  in  feeling.  No 
body  can  speak  of  the  character  of  the  Tuesdays  in 
his  history.  A  number  of  Sundays  is  like  a  flock  of 
sheep,  all  very  much  like  one  another.  A  number 
of  Tuesdays  is  like  a  drove  of  animals  of  the  most 


10  SUNDAYS  LONG  AGO. 

varied  aspect :  as,  for  example,  pigs,  dogs,  horses, 
lions,  whales,  giraffes,  and  peacocks.  They  form  a 
heterogeneous  mass.  The  peculiar  kind  of  atmos 
phere  that  breathes  from  the  Sundays  of  childhood, 
depends  entirely  on  the  bringing-up  you  have  passed 
through.  But  most  men,  looking  back  upon  the  Sun 
days  of  childhood,  are  aware  of  a  very  decided  char 
acter  that  invests  them.  The  character  may  be  pleas 
ant,  or  it  may  be  painful :  but  it  is  there,  and  you  feel 
it  strongly.  Would  that  all  parents  were  so  kind  and 
so  judicious,  as  to  have  the  will  and  way  to  make 
Sunday  the  day  on  which  their  children  shall  always 
look  back  as  the  happiest  of  all  days  !  It  can  be 
done,  very  easily :  and  I  believe  that  in  these  more 
enlightened  times,  it  is  very  generally  done.  Let  it 
be  the  day  of  little  indulgences ;  which  are  very  great 
in  the  judgment  of  the  little  men  and  women.  I  am 
well  aware  that  many  people  in  England  entertain  a 
most  grim  and  repulsive  idea  of  a  Scotch  Sunday. 
One  of  the  present  writer's  most  valued  and  revered 
friends  says,  on  a  page  which  has  been  read  by  scores 
of  thousands,  "  In  those  fortunate  regions  they  have 
not  learned  to  make  a  ghastly  idol  of  the  Sunday." 
It  -does  not  matter  where  those  regions  are :  but  of 
course  Scotland  is  the  country  aimed  at  by  innuendo. 
No  doubt,  there  are  people  in  Scotland  who  make  the 
Lord's  day  a  ghastly  idol :  who  compel  their  children 
to  sit  in  church  for  three  or  four  hours  at  a  stretch, 
listening  to  two  tremendously  long  sermons  preached 


SUNDAYS   LONG   AGO.  11 

at  the  same  service,  in  which  Christianity  is  reduced 
to  a  system  of  the  dryest  metaphysics  :  and  who,  on  re 
turning  home,  devote  the  entire  evening  to  question 
ing  the  poor  little  things  upon  the  Shorter  Catechism. 
That  Catechism  is  a  very  admirable  one  :  but  one 
may  easily  have  too  much  of  even  the  best  things : 
and  the  peculiar  system  which  has  been  described, 
generally  results  in  making  the  children  hate  both 
the  Catechism  and  the  Lord's-day  as  long  as  they 
live.  And  I  have  heard  of  a  man  who  said  that 
when  he  looked  at  a  certain  green  expanse,  on  which 
on  Sunday  afternoon  you  might  see  many  people 
quietly  and  decorously  walking,  before  returning  home 
from  church,  he  was  always  reminded  of  Sodom  and 
Gomorrah,  and  expected  to  see  fire  from  heaven  come 
down  to  destroy  the  wicked  race.  You  have  heard, 
too,  of  the  Highland  elder  who  spoke  of  the  awful 
sight  which  may  be  beheld  on  a  Sunday  at  Edin 
burgh.  There,  he  said,  you  might  see  people  walk 
ing  along  the  street,  smiling  AS  IF  THEY  WERE  PER 
FECTLY  HAPPY  !  But  there  are  multitudes  of  men 
and  women  in  Scotland  who  could  tell  you,  that  their 
Sundays,  in  childhood  and  manhood,  have  been  the 
happiest  days  of  their  life  ;  restful,  thoughtful,  cheer 
ful  days  of  elevation  above  the  little  cares  and  worries 
of  week-days,  when  care  and  worry  come  :  kept  sa 
cred,  as  far  as  may  be,  from  the  intrusion  of  these : 
and  spent  as  in  a  purer  air.  You  remember,  my  friend, 
how  you  used  to  think  that  all  nature  looked  quieter 


12  SUNDAYS  LONG  AGO. 

and  sweeter  upon  the  day  of  rest :  you  remember  the 
sunshiny  evenings,  so  calm  and  bright :  you  could  not 
wish,  in  this  world,  for  anything  happier  or  better  ! 
They  are  gone,  indeed  :  and  some  who  spent  them 
with  you  are  no  longer  here :  but  you  may  humbly 
trust  that  all  that  was  good  and  happy  about  them 
will  come  back  again. 

But  Sunday  is  especially  interesting  to  the  preacher. 
It  is  his  most  important  day.  And  his  work  is  a  very 
solemn  and  anxious  one ;  particularly  in  Scotland, 
where  the  clergyman  feels  that  the  entire  service 
depends  so  much  upon  himself.  The  profit  and  com 
fort  of  the  congregation,  from  the  worship  of  that  day, 
are  too  dependent,  you  know,  upon  your  clearness 
of  head  and  devotion  of  heart.  But  the  preacher's 
work  is  always  a  solemn  and  weighty  one :  whether 
he  walk  in,  one  of  four  or  five  clergymen,  surpliced, 
stoled,  and  hooded,  following  a  procession  of  surpliced 
choristers,  while  the  solemn  tones  of  the  organ  peal 
through  the  long-drawn  cathedral  vault;  or  enter  a 
little  Scotch  country-church,  homely  as  homely  may 
be,  a  solitary  minister  arrayed  in  robes  of  sober  black, 
to  do  the  whole  duty  of  the  day.  For  several  Sun 
days  past,  the  writer  has  been  far  away  from  his 
parish  ;  and  has  gone  to  church  daily  with  no  feel 
ing  of  responsibility  for  the  conduct  of  the  service. 
With  what  a  different  feeling  one  goes  !  However 
much  you  may  love  and  enjoy  your  work,  my  friend, 
I  am  sure  it  is  both  pleasant  and  profitable  for  you 


SUNDAYS  LONG  AGO.  13 

now  and  then  to  go  to  a  strange  church  merely  as  a 
worshipper,  and  to  join  in  the  service  with  unanxious 
quiet.  It  is  a  delightful  rest  and  relief.  Jf  you  hear 
a  very  poor  sermon  (which  I  am  bound  to  say  I 
hardly  ever  do,  anywhere),  you  may  be  aware  of 
some  wish,  or  even  longing  in  your  heart,  to  be  al 
lowed  to  say  a  few  sentences  of  comfort  or  warning 
to  your  fellow-Christians :  you  may  vainly  fancy  you 
could  give  a  better  discourse  ;  which  in  all  probability 
is  a  fond  delusion.  But  as  for  you,  my  reader,  who 
never  have  to  preach  at  all,  you  go  to  church  on 
Sunday:  you  are  there  an  hour  and  a  half,  or  a  few 
minutes  more:  all  this  is  a  little  part  of  the  week  to 
you:  it  is  but  an  incident  in  the  week,  though  perhaps 
an  important  one :  and  as  for  the  sermon,  it  is  just 
half  an  hour's  occupation  to  listen  to  it,  which  you 
do  sometimes  with  interest,  oftentimes  with  patience. 
But  think  how  different  a  thing  that  sermon  is  to  the 
preacher.  I  mean,  to  the  preacher  who  is  preaching 
in  his  own  church  on  an  ordinary  Sunday.  To  him, 
if  his  heart  be  in  his  work,  and  if  he  be  doing  his 
duty,  not  merely  to  get  through  it  decently,  but  to  the 
best  of  his  ability,  that  discourse  is  the  culmination  of 
all  the  week.  His  best  thoughts  for  the  entire  week 
past  have  probably  been  running  on  that  discourse 
which  to  you  is  just  the  occupation  of  half  an  hour. 
He  fixed  on  that  text,  very  likely,  last  Sunday  even 
ing,  after  considerable  perplexity.  Then  he  sketched 
out  the  sermon :  and  by  day  and  night,  its  subject  was 


14  SUNDAYS  LONG  AGO. 

always  simmering  in  his  mind.  It  cost  many  hours, 
possibly  on  three  or  four  days,  of  steady  work  at  his 
writing-table,  to  cover  those  pages  which  you  see  him 
turn  over,  one  in  every  minute  or  two.  And  then, 
perhaps,  he  spent  many  hours  more  of  toilsome  drudg 
ery,  in  committing  all  that  material  to  memory,  so  as 
to  give  it  without  the  aid  of  that  paper  which  is  the 
abhorrence  of  uneducated  and  stupid  folk  in  many 
Scotch  parishes.  I  have  heard  of  good  Scotch  minis 
ters,  on  approaching  whose  manse  on  a  Saturday,  you 
might  hear  a  sound  of  howling,  and  of  an  occasional 
stamp  on  the  floor.  These  noises  signified  that  the 
minister  was  getting  his  sermon  by  heart ;  which  in 
Scotch  phrase  used  to  be  called  mandating  it :  and 
that  he  was  repeating  it  over  in  the  fashion  in  which 
he  intended  to  preach  it  from  his  pulpit.  And  no 
doubt,  if  the  work  of  mandating  was  done  so  thor 
oughly,  that  the  sermon  could  be  given  without  a 
painful  effort  of  memory,  and  a  nervous  fear  of  break 
ing  down,  the  sermon  gained  greatly  in  its  effect  when 
preached.  You  had  the  accuracy  of  language  and  the 
deliberation  of  thought  which  can  hardly  be  counted 
on  in  extempore  speaking  :  with  something  of  the  fire 
and  spontaneity  of  extempore  speaking  added  to  these. 
And  I  cannot  admit  that  it  is  a  mere  vulgar  prejudice, 
to  prefer  that  a  man  in  speaking  to  you  should  look  at 
you,  and  seem  to  be  addressing  you,  rather  than  that 
he  should  look  at  a  written  page,  and  read  at  you,  or 
read  in  your  hearing.  But  in  many  cases  in  which  a 


SUNDAYS  LONG  AGO.  15 

sermon  is  committed  to  memory,  and  repeated  without 
the  aid  of  the  document,  you  can  see  that  the  preacher 
is  painfully  reading  from  his  memory:  and  that  a  very 
little  thing  would  put  him  out,  and  cause  him  to  break 
down  entirely.  And  I  can  quite  imagine  that  a  man 
who  could  speak  extempore  with  sufficient  fluency  if 
he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  do  so,  might  flounder  and 
stop  if  suddenly  cast  upon  his  extempore  resources  by 
his  memory  failing  him  in  repeating  a  written  dis 
course.  A  good  swimmer  has  been  drowned  when 
he  has  unexpectedly  fallen  into  deep  water.  And 
considering  the  facts,  that  with  most  preachers,  the 
sermon  gained  nothing  in  effect  by  being  repeated  and 
not  read  :  and  that  the  weekly  labor  of  memorizing 
one  sermon,  and  much  more  two,  was  the  most  irk 
some  and  depressing  conceivable:  we  may  rejoice  that 
even  in  Scotland,  the  fashion  of  repeating  sermons 
from  memory  is  all  but  extinct.  And  in  the  most 
retired  country  parishes,  where  once  upon  a  time 
many  of  the  congregation  would  have  risen  in  wrath 
and  quitted  the  church  had  the  preacher  begun  to 
read  his  sermon,  you  will  find  the  rustics  listening 
with  the  most  decorous  attention  to  a  preacher  who 
turns  over  his  leaf  at  minute  intervals.  And  no 
preacher  now  makes  any  secret  that  he  reads  :  while 
I  can  remember,  as  a  boy,  the  hasty  and  surreptitious 
fashion  in  which  the  leaf  used  to  be  turned  over.  You 
may  imagine  what  a  fearful  mental  burden  a  Scotch 
minister  in  old  days  had  to  bear,  when  he  walked 


16  SUNDAYS  LONG  AGO. 

down  to  church  with  two  long  sermons  in  his  memory. 
And  any  one  who  knows  Scotland,  must  be  aware  of 
the  great  number  of  amusing  stories  current  among 
high  and  low,  turning  upon  the  inveterate  dislike  to 
the  paper,  and  the  desperate  and  not  always  successful 
efforts  of  preachers  to  do  without  the  forbidden  aid. 
You  are  to  understand,  my  English  friend,  that  the 
reading  of  sermons  was  never  forbidden  by  any  law 
of  the  Church ;  but  merely  by  popular  dislike  to  it. 
A  faithful  clergyman,  aware  that  to  read  his  sermons 
would  greatly  diminish  the  good  they  would  do  his 
parishioners,  would  feel  it  a  sacred  duty  to  give  in  to 
a  prejudice  which  he  heartily  disapproved.  But  even 
when  a  clergyman  is  free  from  the  painful  pressure  of 
a  sermon  memorized  to  its  every  word  and  point:  even 
when  the  fairly-written  pages  lie  before  him;  we  have 
all  seen  plainly  with  what  nervous  strain  and  anxiety 
the  very  greatest  preachers  begin  their  solemn  and  re 
sponsible  work.  And  as  for  the  ordinary  run  of  men 
of  fair  ability,  of  whom  their  congregations  expect 
less:  the  strain,  my  reader,  is  quite  as  great  upon 
their  moderate  powers.  And  after  all  the  labor  of 
preparation,  and  the  anxiety  of  the  time  of  preaching, 
the  hearer  very  likely  thinks  the  sermon  not  very 
good  after  all.  Depend  upon  it,  my  friend,  the 
preacher  feels  that  at  least  as  much  as  you. 

I  have  remarked  that  several  preachers  of  great 
eminence  are  quite  cool  and  unembarrassed  before 
beginning  their  duty.  I  have  seen  such  talking  away 


SUNDAYS  LONG  AGO.  17 

on  indifferent  subjects  in  the  vestry  till  the  moment 
they  ascended  the  pulpit ;  yet  able  instantly  to  call 
up  the  right  feeling  which  becomes  the  solemn  occa 
sion,  and  to  give  very  admirable  sermons.  I  have 
heard  one  very  distinguished  man,  of  that  happy 
equanimity  of  temper,  declare  that  he  could  not 
understand  it  as  possible  that  a  preacher,  in  giving 
the  same  sermon  on  two  different  occasions,  should 
give  it  on  one  occasion  with  great  feeling,  and  on  the 
other  with  very  little.  He  said  that  surely  any  man 
might  at  any  time  express  the  same  thoughts  with 
equal  perception  of  their  force.  Happy  man  !  Many 
clergymen  know  that  the  self-same  words  are  felt,  and 
tell,  very  differently  at  different  times.  I  have  heard 
a  great  orator  give  a  discourse,  with  a  manifest  effort, 
a  painful  and  unsuccessful  effort,  to  call  up  the  cor 
responding  feeling.  The  orator  was  at  the  moment 
quite  out  of  sympathy  with  the  mood  in  which  what 
he  had  to  say  had  been  written.  And  such  persons 
as  have  passed  through  this  experience,  I  have  re 
marked  as  specially  nervous  and  anxious  before  their 
work.  They  know  that  though  they  have  done  their 
very  best  at  home,  many  little  things,  physical  and 
mental,  may  prevent  their  giving  their  sermon  with 
comfort  and  effect.  I  am  not  going  to  mention 
names;  but  I  can  say  that  I  have  had  opportunities 
of  observing  this  in  the  case  of  several  of  the  most 
eminent  preachers  both  in  Scotland  and  England.  I 
have  heard  a  very  distinguished  preacher  say  that  he 


18  SUNDAYS  LONG  AGO. 

would  think  no  reward  too  great  for  the  man  who 
would  tell  him  how  to  come  up  to  his  work  on  Sun 
day  in  perfect  condition  for  it.  Body  and  mind  should 
be  at  their  best.  And  to  secure  any  approximation 
to  such  an  end,  many  things,  little  and  great,  must  be 
attended  to. 

All  past  things,  of  course,  are  past ;  but  one  can 
not  but  think  how  thoroughly  past  are  the  services 
and  the  exhortations  of  Sundays  long  ago.  One  has 
thought  of  this,  going  to  hear  a  great  pulpit  orator. 
There  is  the  church  ;  the  dense  crowd  of  worshippers, 
or  at  least  of  hearers  ;  the  beautiful  music ;  the  au 
dible  stillness  in  which  the  telling  voice  poured  forth 
its  sentences  of  warning  and  comfort.  But  it  is  all 
over.  There  is  the  sigh  of  relief  at  the  close,  as  if 
people  had  not  had  a  full  breath  for  many  minutes 
past ;  and  then  the  great  tide  of  life  ebbs  away.  And 
there  is  nothing  to  show  for  it  all ;  nothing  to  be  easily 
traced  by  sense.  Robert  Stephenson  is  dead,  but 
there  is  the  Menai  Bridge ;  Brunei  is  gone,  but  there 
is  the  Saltash  Viaduct  and  the  Great  Eastern.  But 
now  Chalmers  is  silent,  a  fading  impression  in  many 
memories  is  all  that  remains  ;  and  in  a  few  years, 
when  all  who  listened  to  him  are  dead,  it  will  be  im 
possible  rightly  to  understand  what  he  was.  It  will 
be  impossible  to  recall  the  almost  awful  impression  of 
the  moments  in  which  you  heard  him :  and  in  which 
you  thought  to  yourself,  that  never  before  could  y  ni 


SUNDAYS  LONG  AGO.  19 

have  believed  that  human  words  could  have  so  thrilled 
through  you  and  swept  you  away.  Yet,  there  are 
enthusiastic  recorders  of  all  that.  I  have  seen  men, 
not  easily  roused  to  enthusiasm,  warm  into  an  un 
wonted  glow  of  admiration  and  affection,  in  telling 
of  that  simplest-minded  and  noblest-hearted  of  great 
and  good  men.  But  the  thing  they  always  insisted  on 
was,  how  vain  it  was  by  any  description  to  make  you 
understand  the  reality.  You  may  go  and  visit  the 
plain  church  where  he  preached :  but  his  burning 
words  have  left  no  echo  there.  You  may  read  the 
sermons  in  print;  but  to  do  that  gives  you  no  idea 
whatever  of  what  they  were  when  said  by  him.  He 
could  not  publish  that  fire  of  manner,  which  made 
single  words,  and  bits  of  sentences,  tingle  through 
you,  which  when  you  afterwards  coolly  looked  back 
on  them,  seemed  nothing  particular.  It  seems  to  me, 
there  is  no  more  incommunicable  gift  of  genius.  An 
ordinary  man  may  make  a  deep  impression  by  saying 
something  which  is  very  fine  and  impressive ;  but  he 
must  have  the  divine  gift  who  makes  you  start  on  your 
feet  by  saying  Mesopotamia  ;  or.  That  is  not  true  ;  or 
wrho  moves  a  crowd  of  thousands  to  tears  by  saying, 
He  did  it,  because  Providence  was  kind  to  him.  Speak 
ing  of  Chalmers,  one  is  taking  the  extremest  case  ;  but 
it  comes  almost  as  touchingly  home  to  one,  to  think 
how  the  thoughts  and  exhortations  of  ordinary  men 
pass  into  entire  oblivion.  I  once  saw  a  great  mass  of 
old  faded  sermons  of  a  good  clergyman  who  was  dead. 


20  SUNDAYS  LONG  AGO. 

They  were  lying  on  the  floor  of  an  empty  room  in  a 
house  to  let.  I  have  little  doubt  they  were  ultimately 
used  for  lighting  fires.  You  could  not  but  think  what 
a  great  amount  of  labor  had  gone  to  producing  those 
neglected  manuscripts.  The  good  man  who  wrote 
them  had  for  many  years  held  the  charge  of  a  con 
siderable  country  parish.  You  could  not  but  think 
how  the  words  written  there,  heartily  spoken  on  Sun 
days  in  church,  might  be  remaining  (some  of  them)  in 
the  memory  of  a  generation  of  rustics  who  had  grown 
up  under  that  instruction,  and  who  had  doubtless 
heard  all  the  sermons  several  times  preached.  And 
in  that  case  you  might  hope  and  believe  that  the  ex 
hortations  remained  not  merely  in  the  memory,  but 
(better  still)  in  the  lives  of  the  people  of  that  quiet 
parish.  You  could  not  but  think  of  a  bright  summer 
morning,  when  the  people  came  along  leafy  ways,  and 
listened  (a  little  drowsily)  to  that  faded  sermon  which, 
as  you  may  see,  was  preached  on  the  24th  of  June, 
1817.  You  thought  of  a  clear  frosty  winter  day,  brac 
ing  and  cheering,  on  which  that  other  sermon  did  duty  ; 
which  bears  to  have  been  given  on  a  certain  24th  of 
December.  But  our  calculations  are  usually  wrong ; 
and  it  is  probable  that  the  June  Sunday  was  cold  and 
rainy,  and  that  the  Christinas  time  was  a  damp  and 
green  one.  But  how  little  trace  remains  of  many 
things  ?  All  the  work  of  preparing  that  sermon,  and 
committing  it  to  memory ;  all  the  anxiety  of  the  Sun 
day  morning ;  all  the  hearty  tones  in  which  it  was 


SUNDAYS  LONG  AGO.  21 

given  ;  all  the  warmth  of  heart  it  awakened  in  the 
people  who  listened  to  it ;  all  the  volume  of  simple 
but  telling  praise  that  preceded  and  followed  it ;  have 
left  no  more  trace  than  that  inscription  of  June  24:th, 
1817.  I  see  the  people  walking  away  home,  by  the 
various  paths  which  lead  from  the  church-door ;  I 
imagine  how  the  poor  little  children  in  many  homes 
were  required  to  give  some  account  of  the  sermon, 
and  could  not  do  it ;  I  think  of  the  good  old  clergy 
man  going  home  from  church,  and  having  a  quiet  turn 
in  his  garden ;  and  of  the  sun  going  down  over  each 
dwelling  in  the  pastoral  district  which  I  can  see  ;  and 
here  is  what  stands  for  all  that :  in  faded  ink,  the  date 
I  have  already  told  you.  And  when  a  clergyman  who 
is  still  living  and  preaching  turns  over  his  stock  of 
sermons,  and  looks  at  the  inscription  at  the  end  of 
each,  which  states  the  churches  and  the  dates  at 
which  each  was  given,  he  cannot  but  feel  how  little 
vestige  remains  of  the  circumstances  in  which  it  wa3 
preached,  and  of  the  impression  made  by  it.  There 
is  nothing  more  completely  forgot  than  the  average 
Sunday  sermon  of  even  a  very  good  preacher. 

But  a  happy  result  follows.  The  preacher  can  use 
his  discourses,  even  in  the  same  church,  a  good  many 
times  over.  In  about  four  or  five  years,  all  remem 
brance  of  a  sermon  is  gone,  unless  perhaps  of  its  text, 
and  of  some  odd  sentence  here  and  there.  I  have 
heard  of  a  very  excellent  clergyman,  who  had  charge 
of  the  same  church  for  thirty  years.  His  stock  of 


22  SUNDAYS  LONG  AGO. 

sermons  lasted  just  three  years:  so  in  that  period 
each  was  preached  ten  times.  Yet  the  people  did  not 
grumble  :  probably  did  not  know.  Here  is  an  advan 
tage  which  the  preacher  has  over  other  producers  and 
salesmen  of  thought.  A  man  who  writes  leading  ar 
ticles  for  newspapers,  or  tales  or  essays  for  periodi 
cals,  must  always  go  on,  producing  what  purports  to 
be  new.  He  cannot  republish  an  old  article  word  for 
word,  as  the  preacher  can  reproduce  an  old  sermon. 
No  doubt,  literary  men  do  reproduce  themselves  :  it 
is  the  old  material  slightly  rearranged  and  touched 
up  :  but  it  is  their  readers  who  feel  this  as  an  impo 
sition  and  infliction ;  not  the  literary  men  who  feel  it 
as  a  relief.  They  fancy  they  are  producing  some 
thing  new  :  there  is  all  the  effort  of  fresh  production. 
The  reader  feels  it  is  the  old  thing,  but  not  so  good. 
At  least,  it  is  not  so  fresh.  It  seems  but  a  faint  echo 
of  the  old  days.  But  the  preacher,  after  a  suitable 
time  is  gone,  takes  out  the  old  sermon,  and  preaches 
it  exactly  as  it  is.  And  if  the  sermon  be  fairly  good, 
those  who  remember  something  of  its  tone,  are  quite 
pleased  to  hear  it  again.  The  person  who  likes  it 
least,  is  probably  the  preacher  himself:  if  his  mind 
and  experience  be  still  growing.  He  feels  he  has 
got  beyond  it ;  and  grown  out  of  sympathy  with  it. 
And  even  besides  this,  he  is  aware  of  many  defects 
and  flaws.  You  look  with  great  favor  at  a  compo 
sition  fresh  from  your  mind  :  but  after  the  lapse  of 
years,  you  regard  it  much  more  coolly  and  more 
justly. 


SUNDAYS  LONG  AGO.  23 

In  the  pages  which  follow,  my  friend,  you  will  find 
certain  of  the  graver  thoughts  of  a  writer  whose  lighter 
ones  have  been  received  by  very  many  readers  with  a 
favor  much  beyond  their  desert.  You  will  find  some 
portion  of  the  material  to  which  the  writer's  best  pains 
have  been  given,  on  many  forenoons  and  many  even 
ings  in  country  and  in  town  :  which  has  been  carried 
to  church  on  Sundays  in  his  pocket ;  and  which  has 
been  spoken  from  the  pulpit  to  the  congregations 
given  to  his  care.  Many  of  these  words  have  been 
said  to  a  little  handful  of  kindly  country-people  :  and 
all  of  them  to  a  large  congregation  of  educated  folk 
in  a  great  city.  It  has  been  the  writer's  desire  to 
make  those  who  listened  to  him  feel  that  religion  is  a 
real  thing,  with  the  most  practical  bearing  on  all  the 
interests  of  life  ;  and  not  a  thing  quite  beside  and  be 
yond  our  daily  experience.  He  has  aimed  at  sim 
plicity  and  clearness  ;  arid  at  that  reality  which  comes 
of  the  preacher's  saying  what  he  has  actually  known 
and  felt,  and  not  merely  what  he  thinks  he  must  say. 
And  he  wishes  for 'nothing  better  in  this  life,  than  to 
continue  to  set  forth  the  blessed  gospel  of  Christ,  ever 
more  simply  and  sincerely. 


II. 


HOW   GOD   FEELS   TOWARDS  MANKIND. 

"If  ye  then,  being  evil,  know  how  to  give  good  gifts  unto  your 
children,  how  much  more  shall  your  Father  which  is  in 
heaven  give  good  things  to  them  that  ask  him?" — ST 
MATT.  vii.  11. 


BELIEVE  that  one  of  the  first  and 
most  important  things  that  mortal  man 
can  do  ;  I  believe  that  the  very  first  and 
most  important  of  all  things,  for  our  spir 
itual  welfare ;  is  that  we  should  get  and  keep  just 
and  right  views  of  God.  Many  human  beings,  I  say 
not  only  in  heathen  lands,  where  men  have  set  up 
and  worshipped  as  divine,  stocks  of  wood,  and  images 
of  stone,  and  fancied  beings  invested  with  every  at 
tribute  of  monstrous  cruelty  and  foulness,  —  not  only 
there,  but  even  in  this  country  of  Christian  light,  — 
live  under  entire  delusion  as  to  what  God  is,  and  as 
to  how  God  feels  towards  us  His  poor  sinful  crea 
tures,  —  delusion  which  affects  all  their  views,  all 
their  conduct,  all  their  life.  There  is  nothing  what 
soever,  which  man  can  ever  think  or  ever  do,  which 
will  not  be  influenced,  more  or  less,  by  the  thought 
and  the  belief  he  has  in  his  heart  concerning  Al- 


HOW   GOD  FEELS   TOWARDS  MANKIND.         25 

mighty  God.  Oh,  then,  how  precious  an  attainment, 
how  great  a  blessing  it  will  be,  if  we  are  enabled,  by 
the  light  of  God's  Word,  and  by  the  teaching  of  His 
Spirit,  savingly  to  know  God  ;  to  discern  Him  rightly  ; 
and  (so  far  as  may  be  here,  where  we  see  so  dimly 
and  darkly)  to  see  Him  as  He  is ! 

Now,  here,  in  our  text,  we  have  words  of  authority 
concerning  God.  We  might  have  doubted  them,  if 
we  had  heard  them  spoken  by  man  :  we  cannot  doubt 
them  now.  He  said  them,  who  spake  as  never  man 
spake.  He  spake  them,  who  could  speak  with  un- 
doubting  authority  of  God,  forasmuch  as  He  himself 
was  God.  And  you  see  the  great  principle  which  is 
involved  in  these  words.  The  principle  involved  is 
this:  that  the  way  to  judge  of  God,  and  of  God's 
feelings  towards  us,  and  of  what  God  will  do  for  us, 
is  to  look  at  the  best,  and  purest,  and  kindest  feelings 
of  human  nature;  and  to  think  that  God  is  like  all 
that :  only  that  He  is  infinitely  purer,  kinder,  and 
better.  TJiat  is  the  way  to  arrive  at  some  faint  notion 
of  what  God  is,  and  of  how  God  feels. 

We  are  made  in  God's  image,  after  His  likeness. 
No  doubt,  the  image  is  defiled  and  ruined :  yet  there 
are  traces  of  the  great,  pure,  happy  original  state.  It 
is  only  because  there  is  something  in  us,  something  in 
our  spiritual  nature,  which  resembles  God,  that  we 
are  able  to  form  any  conception  of  Him  and  His 
character.  But  for  this,  we  could  no  more  conceive 
of  God's  attributes,  than  a  blind  man,  who  never 
2 


26         HOW  GOD  FEELS   TOWARDS  MANKIND. 

saw,  can  conceive  of  color.  Of  course,  we  are  falleo 
creatures ;  and  our  blurred  and  blotted  qualities  bear 
only  the  faintest  and  farthest  likeness  to  that  Divine 
image  in  which  we  were  made.  Speaking  as  men 
speak,  we  may  say  that  there  are  feelings  which  are 
unquestionably  good  in  human  nature;  but  we  know 
that  tried  by  the  standard  of  perfect  purity,  the  very 
best  has  some  alloy,  some  lack,  some  flaw.  And  it 
is  in  these  that  something  of  God's  likeness  lingers: 
it  is  from  these  distant  hints  and  indications  of  what 
God  is  like,  that  the  Saviour  would  have  us  learn 
what  God  is. 

And  thus,  in  our  text,  Christ  tells  us  what  we  are 
to  expect  of  God,  in  His  treatment  of  us.  There  is 
mystery  about  God's  nature :  we  cannot  fathom  it : 
and  we  bow  humbly  before  Him,  taking  up  the 
prophet's  words,  "  Verily  thou  art  a  God  that  hidest 
Thyself."  And  as  God  is  thus  mysterious,  our  kind 
Redeemer  takes  something  that  all  men  will  know. 
He  appeals  to  feelings  which  are  lacking  in  very  few 
human  hearts.  He  goes  to  the  love  and  care  of 
parents  for  their  child :  something  which  is  there,  even 
in  the  most  wretched  and  the  worst.  It  is  rightly 
thought  one  of  the  saddest  and  most  miserable  sights 
to  be  seen  in  this  sorrowful  world,  —  something  indi 
cating  the  loss  of  all  that  stamps  a  being  as  human, 
—  the  unnatural  heartless  wretch  that  does  not  care 
for  his  child  :  God  be  thanked  that  such  heartless 
wretches  are  few,  even  among  the  most  degraded  of 
the  race  ! 


HOW  GOD  FEELS   TOWARDS   MANKIND.          '27 

Now,  says  the  Blessed  Redeemer,  speaking  to  you, 
and  me,  and  all :  If  you  want  to  know  how  God  feels 
towards  you,  and  how  ready  God  is  to  give  you  every 
thing  that  is  really  good ;  here  is  something  to  go  by. 
You  know  how  much  you  would  do  for  your  children: 
you  know  how  anxious  you  are  to  care  for  them  in 
every  way.  You  know  how  a  father  will  work,  and 
how  a  mother  will  watch,  all  for  the  good  of  their 
little  ones.  You  know  how  much  of  the  work  that  is 
done  by  men  in  this  world,  and  how  much  of  the  care 
that  is  felt,  is  not  for  themselves  at  all,  but  for  their 
children :  all  for  them.  After  the  dream  of  fame  is 
past,  —  after  ambition  is  outgrown,  —  the  man  toils 
on  as  steadfastly  and  earnestly  as  in  his  most  hopeful 
and  most  aspiring  days,  —  that  he  may  provide  for  his 
little  ones ;  that  he  may  see  them  in  comfort  and 
happiness  ;  that  he  may  push  them  on  (as  he  trusts 
and  prays)  to  be  far  better  and  happier  than  ever  he 
was  himself.  The  human  heart  is  always  the  same : 
you  do  that  now,  my  friends  ;  and  so  you  may  be 
sure  that  people  did  that  long  ago,  in  the  days  when 
Christ  was  here.  Well,  says  Christ,  you  know  all 
that.  You  know  all  that,  says  His  blessed  voice :  and 
now  hear  me  and  believe  me  when  I  tell  you,  that  the 
great  Father  above  is  just  like  that  ;  only  a  thousand 
fold  better.  If  even  you,  sinful  and  evil,  would  wear 
your  fingers  to  the  bone,  would  lose  your  rest,  would 
cut  off  every  selfish  indulgence,  that  you  might  see 
your  children's  wants  supplied,  that  you  might  see  the 


28         HOW  GOD  FEELS  TOWARDS  MANKIND. 

little  things  happy  and  good,  —  then  take  this  blessed 
truth  to  your  heart,  that  in  all  you  feel  towards  your 
children,  you  have  a  faint  and  far  reflection  of  how 
the  great  God  above  us  feels  towards  you.  He  feels 
for  us  just  like  that:  cares  for  us,  loves  us,  wishes  us 
well,  works  for  us.  And  if  you  know  that  when  your 
poor  little  boy  or  girl  comes  to  you,  and  asks  you  for 
something  that  is  needful  and  right,  they  will  not  ask 
in  vain  ;  then  be  sure  that  when  we  go,  with  our 
feeble  words  and  our  many  sins,  and  ask  what  we 
need  from  God,  he  is  as  ready  to  bend  down  from 
the  throne  of  the  universe,  as  with  a  smile  on  his 
kind  face,  and  listen  to  our  imperfect  petitions,  and 
help  them  out,  and  give  us  in  answer  all  that  is  right 
for  us,  thoughtfully  and  graciously.  And  hear  me 
when  I  tell  you,  my  Christian  friends,  that  even  such 
is  the  picture  we  should  have  in  our  minds  of  the 
Christian's  God !  Not  the  grim  tyrant,  not  the  mere 
rigorous  and  inflexible  punisher,  that  some  misguided 
and  gloomy  religionists  worship,  and  terrify  their  chil 
dren  with ;  not  a  being  all  severity  and  wrath  and 
cursing  and  woe ;  not  a  being  hard  and  cold  as 
granite  ;  not  a  being  that  damns  little  children  that 
never  sinned,  and  then  asks  us  to  thank  him  for 
doing  it ;  not  a  being  that  made  millions  for  sin  and 
misery,  and  looks  on  in  gloomy  satisfaction  as  his 
poor  creatures  are  consigned  to  hell,  all  for  his  glory. 
Call  that  black  vision,  conjured  up  by  heartless  and 
soulless  logicians,  as  though  they  longed  to  drive  man 


HOW  GOD  FEELS  TOWARDS  MANKIND.          29 

away  from  his  Maker,  —  call  it  Moloch,  or  Jugger 
naut,  if  you  will  ;  but  never  dream  that  in  that  you 
see  the  Christian's  God,  —  the  God  revealed  to  our 
love  and  hope  in  the  blessed  gospel  of  Jesus  Christ ! 
No ;  our  God  is  one  who,  while  hating  the  sin,  pities 
and  loves  the  sinner;  one  who  wills  not  that  any 
should  perish ;  one  who  made  a  real  sacrifice,  the 
greatest,  by  sending  his  Son  to  die  that  we  might 
live ;  one  who  would  that  his  glory  should  be  vindi 
cated  by  our  bliss  and  salvation  ;  who  "  sent  his  Son 
into  the  world,  that  whosoever  believeth  in  him  might 
not  perish,  but  have  everlasting  life;"  who  entreats 
us  to  come  to  him  and  trust  him  and  believe  that  he 
loves  us;  who  has  manifested  himself  to  us  in  no 
grim  face,  and  in  no  cruel  judge,  but  in  the  kindest 
heart  that  ever  beat,  and  the  kindest  face  this  world 
ever  saw  ;  or  where  can  we  find  a  better  and  happier 
way  of  saying  the  truth  than  our  Saviour's  own  way, 
—  a  kind  Father  listening  to  our  prayers,  with  pa 
tience  and  love  and  care  of  which  our  best  feelings 
are  but  the  feeble  reflection  :  "  If  ye,  being  evil,  know 
how  to  give  good  gifts  unto  your  children,  how  much 
more,"  —  oh,  listen  to  it,  —  "  how  much  more,  shall 
your  Father  which  is  in  heaven  give  good  things  to 
them  that  ask  him  ! " 

If  St.  Paul  had  told  me  that,  I  should  not  have 
dared  to  believe  it.  If  the  greatest  and  most  inspired 
of  mere  mortals  had  told  me  that,  I  should  have  said 
that  that  was  too  simple,  kindly,  and  homely,  to  be  a 


30         HOW  GOD  FEELS  TOWARDS   MANKIND. 

fair  statement  of  the  truth  concerning  the  Infinite 
God.  If  any  other  had  told  you,  that  the  way  to 
know  how  God  feels  towards  you,  is  to  look  into  your 
own  heart,  and  thinking  how  you  feel,  when  at  your 
best,  towards  your  little  child ;  you  could  not  have 
taken  it  in.  But  you  know  Who  said  it.  One,  from 
whose  lips  you  would  believe  anything ;  One,  whose 
lips  beseemed  the  best  and  most  hopeful  words  ;  One, 
who  knew  God  best,  and  what  God  is,  seeing  he  is 
one  with  him  ;  yea,  One  in  whose  face  we  see  the 
invisible  God.  "  The  only-begotten  Son,  which  is  in 
the  bosom  of  the  Father,  he  hath  declared  him,"  — 
and  never  in  words  more  precious,  or  that  come 
straighter  to  our  hearts,  than  here. 

And  so,  my  friends,  God  feels  towards  each  of  us 
as  a  kind  and  wise  father  feels  towards  his  child  ;  and 
the  difference  is  just  this  :  that  God,  our  Father  in 
heaven,  is  infinitely  better  than  the  very  best  earthly 
father.  And  now  that  I  have  shown  you  the  great 
and  blessed  truth  which  is  taught  us  by  the  text,  on 
the  first  glance  at  it,  let  us  turn  our  thoughts  to  the 
further  truth,  that  is  brought  out  by  the  words  in  the 
text,  "  how  much  more  ; "  the  truth  that  God  differs 
from  an  earthly  father  by  being  fur  kinder,  wiser,  and 
better.  0  brethren,  there  is  an  immense  deal  sug 
gested  by  that  "  how  much  more  !  "  It  would  be  an 
unspeakable  comfort  to  us,  it  would  be  a  glorious 
and  comfortable  truth,  that  God  was  just  as  willing 
to  give  us  all  we  need,  as  you  kind-hearted  people 


HOW  GOD  FEELS   TOWARDS   MANKIND.         31 

are  to  give  what  is  needful  to  your  litUe  child.  I 
think  I  know  men  and  women  who  have  hearts  so 
good  and  kind  ;  who  are  so  ready  to  do  what  they 
can  to  make  their  own  children  happy,  or  to  add  to 
the  happiness  of  any  little  child  ;  that  I  should  feel 
safe  enough  and  sure  enough  in  going,  sinful,  weary,  to 
Almighty  God,  to  ask  for  his  mercy  and  his  Blessed 
Spirit,  even  if  I  knew  no  more  than  this,  that  I  should 
find  such  a  welcome  at  his  throne  of  grace  as  these 
good  men  and  women  would  give  to  any  suffering, 
helpless  child,  even  if  it  were  not  their  own.  But 
"  how  much  more  ! "  What  a  silent  reference  to  an 
inconceivable  depth  of  love  and  pity  n.  the  heart  of 
God !  It  is  as  if  Christ  had  said  to  those  whom  he 
addressed,  You  cannot  understand  the  difference ; 
words  cannot  explain  the  difference  ;  here  is  the  kind 
of  thing,  in  yourselves ;  but  in  God  "  how  much 
more  !  "  Yet  not  a  different  kind  of  thing  ;  the  same 
kind  of  feeling  you  bear  towards  your  children,  only 
heightened  up  to  a  pitch  you  can  never  know.  And 
then,  what  a  silent  suggestion  in  the  hint  of  what  we 
are,  even  at  our  very  best :  "  If  ye,  being  evil ; "  that 
is  what  we  are  at  our  very  best,  in  the  sight  of  God. 
The  man  who  bears  on  his  kind  face  the  unmistakable 
signs  of  the  kind  heart  within,  that  make  little  chil 
dren  (those  unerring  physiognomists)  hail  him  on 
short  acquaintance  as  a  congenial  friend,  —  that  kind 
good  man,  after  all,  is  nothing  better  than  evil  in  the 
pure  sight  of  God.  Far  kinder,  purer,  wiser,  better, 


32         HOW  GOD  FEELS  TOWARDS  MANKIND. 

is  the  care  for  all  his  children  which  dwells  with  the 
great  Father  of  all.  How  inconceivably  better  is 
God  than  man  at  his  very  best !  You,  being  evil, 
will  do  a  great  deal  for  your  children ;  but  God, 
"  how  much  more  !  " 

And  so  you  see,  my  friends,  that  it  is  impossible 
for  us  fully  to  understand  all  the  love  of  God  for  us  ; 
its  essential  depth  and  excellence  are  beyond  our 
comprehension.  But  though  Christ's  words  suggest 
that  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  fathom  the  essential 
depth  of  our  heavenly  Father's  love,  still  it  may  be 
comforting  and  profitable  to  think  for  a  little  of  cer 
tain  respects  in  which  even  we  can  understand  how 
much  better  a  father  God  is,  than  any  earthly  father 
can  ever  be. 

And  these  points  of  superiority  are  so  plain  and 
simple,  that  they  need  very  little  illustration.  For 
one  thing,  God  knows  what  is  good  for  us,  as  no 
human  parent  can  know  what  is  good  for  his  child. 
Although  no  human  parent,  with  a  parent's  heart, 
would  give  his  child  a  stone  for  bread,  or  a  serpent 
for  a  fish,  many  a  human  parent  has  done,  and  will 
do  again,  what  really  comes  to  that.  With  the  kindest 
intentions,  we  all  know  how  injudicious  parents  often 
are  ;  how  often  they  err  on  the  side  of  over-severity 
or  of  over-tenderness  ;  how  completely  they  some 
times  mistake  what  is  to  conduce  to  the  true  good 
or  happiness  of  their  children  ;  —  indeed,  it  is  not  too 
much  to  say  that  a  very  great  proportion  of  all  the 


HOW  GOD  FEELS   TOWARDS   MANKIND.          33 

sorrow  that  is  in  this  world  arises  from  the  mismanage 
ment  of  parents  in  youth,  or  from  the  consequences  of 
that  mismanagement  in  after-years.  Now  God  knows 
us  ;  knows  what  we  are,  and  what  we  can  do ;  knows 
what  we  are  fit  for,  and  how  things  affect  us  ;  knows 
all  our  peculiarities  of  temperament  and  disposition. 
He  knows  what  we  really  need  ;  he  knows  when  to 
give  us  what  we  wish,  and  when  to  deny  it ;  he 
knows  how  to  make  "  all  things  work  together  for 
good "  to  such  as  love  him.  There  is  no  caprice 
with  him,  no  fretfulness,  no  passion.  He  never 
punishes  merely  because  he  is  angry.  Nor  does  he 
refrain  from  sending  punishment  when  needful  because 
he  shrinks  from  giving  pain.  In  short,  he  knows 
best  what  is  good  for  us  ;  and  he  has  firmness  to  send 
us  just  that. 

Another  point  in  which  appears  the  superiority  of 
the  great  Father  to  whom  Christ  points  us  above  all 
earthly  parents,  is  his  power.  He  is  able  to  do  all 
he  wishes.  He  has  all  power  to  give  us  all  good 
things  ;  to  help  and  save.  You  know  how  different  it 
is  with  us ;  how  well  we  often  know  what  we  should 
like  to  do  for  our  children,  to  make  them  wise  and 
good  and  happy ;  yet  how  very  little  we  can  do. 
When  the  ruler's  little  child  was  dying,  what  could  he 
do  but  turn  his  back  upon  the  house  where  was  the 
darkened  room  and  the  little  bed  and  the  white  little 
face  laid  upon  the  pillow  and  the  cold  lips  laboring 
with  the  rapid  breath,  —  turn  his  back  upon  all  these, 
2* 


34        HOW  GOD  FEELS  TOWARDS  MANKIND. 

—  because  he  could  da  nothing  to  help,  and   hasten 
away  along  the  lake  side,  —  going  in  his  despair  to 
just  the  very  best  place  where  any  of  us  can  ever  go, 

—  going  to  the  presence  of  our  beloved  Saviour,  and 
saying,  "  Lord,  come  down  ere  my  child  die  ! "     But, 
O  brethren,  think  what  a  glorious  combination :  the 
kind  Father's  heart  and  the  almighty  God's  power ! 
Oh,   how  bright  and  happy  and   Christian  a  future 
would  the  wise  and  good  among  you  picture  out  for 
your  children,  if  you  had  the  power  to  make  them  as 
good  and  happy  as  you  could  wish  !     But  with  human 
beings  it  is  a  commonplace  ten   thousand  times  re 
peated,  how  far  apart  are  will  and  power.     You  have 
heard  of  the  poor  mother  with  her  infant,  who  perished 
in  a  snow-storm  crossing  the  hills  on  a  wild  winter 
night ;  there,  in  the  dark  night,  and  amid  the  waste 
wilderness,  the  mother  died.     They  found  her  in  the 
morning,  cold  and  dead ;  but  the  little  child  was  alive 
and  well ;    for  the  poor  mother  had   spent  her  last 
strength  in  stripping  the  clothing  from  her  own  stif 
fening  frame  and  wrapping  it   about   her  child   and 
clasping  the  little  bundle  to  her  breast.     Ah,  brethren, 
that  tight  clasp  of   the  dead  arms,  and  those  poor 
garments,  so  carefully  wrapped,  —  surely  they  spake 
from  the  world  beyond  the  grave,  and  told  the  last 
care  in  the  dying  mother's  heart ;  and  told  how  her 
last  thoughts  had  been  with  the  unconscious  little  one 
that  never  would  remember  or  miss  her !     Now  there 
is  the  type  of  God's  love  ;  not  more  tenderly  did  the 


HOW  GOD  FEELS  TOWARDS  MANKIND.         35 

dying  woman  yearn  over  the  little  thing  that  must  go 
through  life  and  she  far  away  than  does  God  over 
each  sinful  soul  in  this  place ;  and  the  grand  differ 
ence  lies  in  this,  that  our  heavenly  Father  has  infinite 
power  to  do  all  we  ask  or  need  ! 

Then  God  is  always  kind.  There  are  unnatural 
parents  —  let  us  hope,  very  few.  There  are  people  who 
repel  their  children's  confidence ;  who  from  mistaken 
principle  or  from  a  bad  heart  do  all  they  can  to  make 
their  children  miserable  ;  who  point  out  with  pride  in 
the  misery  of  a  child,  that  things  have  come  just  as 
they  said  they  would ;  who  so  act  as  to  make  us 
wonder  that  a  trace  of  natural  affection  should  be  left 
in  their  children's  hearts.  I  shall  not  dwell  on  a  sub 
ject  so  miserable,  save  to  remind  you  that  our  heavenly 
Father  has  anticipated  such  a  case :  "  Can  a  woman 
forget  her  sucking  child,  that  she  should  not  have 
compassion  on  the  son  of  her  womb  ?  Yea,  they  may 
forget,  yet  will  I  not  forget  thee." 

And  now  the  last  matter  I  shall  name,  as  to  which 
our  heavenly  Father  excels  the  best  earthly  one,  is 
that  he  is  always  near.  Earthly  parents  may  be  far 
away,  just  when  they  are  needed  most ;  there  is  many 
a  father,  away  on  Indian  plains,  thinking  day  and 
night  of  his  children  here  ;  and  thinking  how  he  is 
losing  their  society  just  at  the  most  interesting  season 
of  their  life,  —  losing  the  years  that  change  them  from 
boys  and  girls  into  men  and  women,  —  losing  those 
impressionable  days,  in  which  the  soul  is  taking  the 


36         HOW  GOD  FEELS  TOWARDS  MANKIND. 

character  it  is  likely  to  keep  forever.  And  earthly 
parents  must  often  leave  their  children  orphans ;  must 
leave  the  little  thing,  so  pleasing  and  happy  now,  not 
knowing  what  things  may  befall  it,  —  not  knowing  how 
years  in  this  world,  without  a  parent's  care  and  love, 
may  change  that  fresh  young  heart,  and  make  the 
soul  such  that  in  the  better  world  they  may  never 
meet  again.  You  know,  my  friends,  that  with  worthy 
people,  it  is  not  very  long  till  the  chief  interest  of  life 
comes  to  be  about  their  children,  and  about  how  it  is 
to  fare  with  them.  Oh,  I  can  well  think  that  when 
the  shadows  steal  from  the  sight  this  world  and  all  its 
concerns;  when  the  glazing  eye  of  death  can  no 
longer  see  the  faces  round  the  bed ;  the  sorest  thought 
in  many  a  parent's  heart,  is  of  how  his  poor  little 
children  are  to  fare  when  he  is  gone.  The  very 
bitterness  of  death  to  many  a  heart  is  in  the  words, 
"  My  little  child,  I  must  leave  you !  And  who  will  care 
for  you  when  I  am  far  away  ?  "  The  kindest  earthly 
parent  that  ever  lived  cannot  help  or  guide  his  little 
ones  from  the  farther  shore.  They  may  go  to  his 
grave  with  their  story  of  grief;  but  they  might  as  well 
tell  it  to  the  winds.  But,  O  brethren,  our  heavenly 
Father  is  always  near  !  Always  within  hearing ;  always 
within  reach  ;  never  leaving,  never  forsaking  ;  Father 
of  the  fatherless,  Friend  of  the  friendless  ;  yea, "  When 
father  and  mother  forsake  me,  then  the  Lord  will  take 
me  up  !  "  O  Father  of  mercies,  remember  this  word 
unto  Thy  servants,  upon  which  Thou  hast  caused  us 
to  hope ! 


HOW  GOD  FEELS  TOWARDS  MANKIND.         37 

Thus  kindly  and  graciously,  my  friends,  does  our 
Father  which  is  in  heaven  give  good  things  to  them 
that  ask  him.  Yes ;  and  to  them  that  do  not  ask, 
save  by  their  needs.  The  good  earthly  father  does 
not  give  good  things  only  to  those  among  his  children 
who  are  able  to  ask  ;  the  mother's  heart  never  warms 
more  tenderly  to  any  than  to  the  little  thing  that  can 
not  speak  at  all,  —  that  cannot  ask  for  anything,  — 
most  touching  in  its  helplessness,  and  its  incapacity  to 
say  or  even  to  know  what  it  needs.  And  even  so 
with  the  better  Parent  above.  He  hears  the  voice 
of  our  wants ;  he  gives  us  many  a  blessing  that  we 
have  not  the  sense  to  ask  for.  Yea,  when  our  race 
was  asking  nothing,  and  knowing  nothing  of  its  deep 
est  wants,  he  gave  us  the  best  of  all  good  gifts,  —  he 
gave  us  the  Blessed  Saviour  and  the  Blessed  Spirit ! 
And  well  for  us,  my  friends,  that  God  did  not  wait  to 
be  asked ;  well  for  us  that  he  supplied  great  wants  of 
which  we  did  not  know  ;  well  for  us  that  he  treated 
us  as  the  thoughtful  mother  does  the  little  infant  that 
cannot  tell  its  needs  ;  for  true,  as  beautiful,  are  the 
words  of  the  poet :  — 

"  So  runs  my  dream;  but  what  am  I? 
An  infant  crying  in  the  night,  — 
An  infant  crying  for  the  light,  — 
And  with  no  language  but  a  cry." 

There  was  a  man  who  once  said,  that  he  was  the 
best-abused  man  in  Britain.  I  believe  we  may  say, 
much  more  truly,  that  the  most  misrepresented  and 


38         HOW  GOD  FEELS  TOWARDS  MANKIND. 

misconceived  of  all  beings  is  Almighty  God.  You 
know  that  every  syllable  I  have  said  of  him  has  its 
warrant  in  his  own  Word.  You  know  that  the  only 
right  manifestation  of  him  to  our  weak  minds  is  in 
the  face  of  his  dear  Son,  our  blessed  and  beloved 
Redeemer.  And  yet  you  know  how  many  people 
think  of  God  mainly  as  a  grim  punisher,  mainly  as 
the  keeper  of  the  dark  prison-house  below.  I  lately 
read,  with  extreme  disgust  and  abhorrence,  a  book 
intended  for  little  children,  in  which  a  mother  was 
represented  as  asking  her  child,  "  What  does  God  do 
for  little  children  ?  "  and  the  answer  put  in  the  child's 
mouth  was,  "  God  sends  bad  little  children  to  hell." 
Think  of  that  given  as  a  fair  account  of  God's  char 
acter  !  It  is  as  if  a  man,  being  asked,  "  What  does 
the  sun  do  for  mankind  ?  "  were  to  answer,  "  Oh,  he 
gives  people  sun-stroke  and  makes  them  drop  down 
dead  ;  "  but  not  a  word  of  his  cheerful  light  and  genial 
warmth,  guiding  the  steps,  ripening  the  grain,  glad 
dening  the  heart !  Oh,  God  does  punish,  but  sorely 
against  his  will !  He  does  not  want  to  be  glorified 
in  the  sinner's  destruction ;  —  he  may  be  driven  to  that 
at  the  last ;  —  but  he  wants  to  be  glorified  in  the  sin 
ner's  complete  salvation.  Hear  his  own  words,  as 
he  pleads  with  his  rebellious  children :  "  Fury  is  not 
in  me ;  who  would  set  the  briers  and  thorns  against 
me  in  battle?  I  would  go  through  them,  I  would 
burn  them  together.  But  let  him  take  hold  of  my 
strength,  that  he  may  make  peace  with  me,  and  he 


HOW  GOD  FEELS   TOWARDS   MANKIND.          39 

shall  make  peace  with  me  !  "  The  day  may  come, 
my  friends,  when  that  will  not  be  so ;  but  on  this  day 
of  grace  hear  me  when  I  tell  you,  that  our  God's 
right  name  is,  "  The  Lord  God  merciful  and  gracious, 
forgiving  iniquity,  transgression,  and  sin  ! "  It  was 
because  he  loved  us  that  he  sent  our  Saviour  to  die 
for  us ;  because  God  loved  us,  that  our  Saviour  died. 
And  freely  and  fully,  through  him,  we  can  offer  this 
day  to  all  who  will  but  receive  them  pardoning  mercy 
and  sanctifying  grace.  Let  us  all  believe  and  live  ; 
God  wills  not  that  one  should  perish !  And  as  I  tell 
you  these  things,  my  friends,  I  come  back  ever  to  the 
blessed  truth,  whose  preciousness  and  sublimity  admit 
of  no  addition,  that  the  self-same  love  which  dwells 
in  your  heart,  as  you  look  on  the  rosy  little  face  of 
your  child,  dwells  in  our  Father's  heart  above,  as  he 
looks  down  upon  us  sinners ;  that  he  rejoices  to  give 
good  things  to  them  that  ask  him  ;  and  that  when  we 
go  to  ask  the  best  thing,  the  good  part  in  Christ,  we 
may  be  as  sure  that  he  will  give  it  us,  as  the  child 
that  runs  confidently  to  a  mother's  arms  can  be  of  a 
mother's  care.  Surely  there  is  not  one  among  us 
who  would  not  trust  and  love  this  God !  Surely 
there  is  not  one  who  will  not  join  in  the  prayer,  Our 
Father,  keep  us  through  life,  thy  poor  wandering 
children  ;  wash  us  in  our  Elder  Brother's  blood ;  and 
bring  us  to  thy  Home  ! 


III. 


THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH. 

And  lest  I  should  be  exalted  above  measure  through  the  abun 
dance  of  the  revelations,  there  was  given  to  me  a  thorn  in 
the  flesh,  the  messenger  of  Satan  to  buffet  me,  lest  I  should 
be  exalted  above  measure.  For  this  thing  I  besought  the 
Lord  thrice,  that  it  might  depart  from  me.  And  he  said  unto 
me,  My  grace  is  sufficient  for  thee :  for  my  strength  is  made 
perfect  in  weakness.  Most  gladly  therefore  will  I  rather 
glory  in  my  infirmities,  that  the  power  of  Christ  may  rest 
upon  me."  — 2  COR.  xii.  7-9. 

DO  not  know  where  we  shall  find  words 
more  touching,  more  comforting,  more 
saturated  with  the  deepest  wisdom,  more 
filled  with  the  true  spirit  that  should 
abide  in  the  true  Christian,  than  these  words  which 
you  have  read.  They  are  touching  words.  I  have 
no  doubt  at  all  but  it  cost  St.  Paul  an  effort  to  write 
them.  You  can  see  it  was  a  sore  subject  about  which 
he  was  to  tell.  Not  often,  I  dare  say,  even  to  his 
nearest  friends,  would  the  great  apostle  speak  of  that 
heavy  burden,  of  that  sore  infirmity,  so  humiliating 
in  its  nature,  and  so  sure  to  last  as  long  as  he  lasted, 
which  he  names  as  his  "  thorn  in  the  flesh."  And 
we  seem  to  know  him  better,  we  seem  to  get  at  his 


THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH.  41 

inmost  thought  and  heart  in  a  way  we  seldom  else 
where  do  ;  when  the  good  man  thus  takes  us  into  his 
confidence,  and  speaks  less  like  an  authoritative  and 
inspired  apostle  than  like  a  tried  and  suffering  man  : 
frankly  and  fully  telling  us  all  about  something  to 
which  we  should  not  have  liked  to  allude  in  talking 
to  him ;  frankly  and  fully  telling  us  about  something 
he  had  to  bear  which  was  painful  and  humbling ; 
frankly  telling  us  how  much  he  needed  it,  yet  how 
earnestly  he  wished  to  escape  it ;  thankfully  telling 
us  how  God  told  him  he  must  bear  it  to  the  end,  but 
that  the  grace  would  never  be  wanting  that  would 
enable  him  to  bear  it  rightly ;  and  then  humbly  yet 
resolutely  stating  the  determination  to  which  he  had 
come  at  last,  of  entire  submission  to  his  wise  and 
kind  Master's  will.  Yes,  when  St.  Paul  speaks  to  us 
in  this  brotherly  manner,  we  feel  a  sympathy  and  a 
brotherhood  with  him  which  we  cannot  always  feel 
with  one  so  far  above  us  and  beyond  us  in  all  the 
graces  of  the  spiritual  life  ;  and  I  think  we  could  clasp 
the  trembling  hand  of  that  greatest  apostle,  and  tell 
him  how  well  we  understand  him  here  ;  tell  him  that 
we  too  have  our  burdens,  sore  and  crushing ;  that  we 
too  have  our  infirmities,  of  which  it  is  painful  to  speak; 
that  we  too  have  had  our  disappointments  ;  that  we 
too  have  thrice  and  oftener  than  thrice  besought  God 
to  do  for  us  that  which  in  his  wisdom  he  saw  it  meet 
not  to  do  ;  and  then  humbly  pray,  and  ask  him  to 
pray  with  us,  that  the  same  needful  grace  may  be 


42  THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH. 

vouchsafed  while  the  trial  lasts ;  and  that  in  the  end 
it  may  all  prove  to  our  true  good  and  to  our  blessed 
Saviour's  glory  ! 

It  seems  to  be  God's  way,  and  we  may  humbly  and 
firmly  believe  a  kind  and  good  way,  to  give  his  crea 
tures  heavy  burdens  to  bear ;  to  make  all,  so  to  speak, 
carry  weight  in  the  race  of  life ;  and  work  and  fight 
at  a  certain  disadvantage.  There  is  some  little  thing 
about  every  one  which  holds  him  back  from  being  a 
far  better,  happier,  and  more  successful  man,  than  now 
he  will  ever  be.  There  is  something  in  our  nature, 
something  in  our  circumstances,  which  is  as  the  ad 
ditional  pounds  laid  on  a  race-horse's  back,  preventing 
his  doing  his  very  best ;  greatly  abating  the  visible 
results  of  his  strength  and  speed.  Now  St.  Paul  had 
his  drag-weight,  we  see ;  something  that  took  him 
down  and  held  him  down  ;  something  that  caused  him 
suffering ;  something  he  would  have  given  much  to  be 
without.  You  know,  I  doubt  not,  that  much  industry 
and  ingenuity  have  been  spent,  to  very  little  practical 
purpose,  in  trying  to  settle  what  St.  Paul's  thorn  in 
the  flesh  was.  It  does  not  matter  at  all  what  was  the 
precise  nature  of  that  trial.  It  may  be  stated,  how 
ever,  that  the  usual  belief  at  present  is,  that  the  over 
powering  impression  made  upon  him  by  that  mysteri 
ous  rapture,  when  he  was  caught  up  into  Paradise, 
and  heard  unspeakable  words,  had  so  affected  the 
system  of  his  nerves  as  to  leave  a  permanent  infirm 
ity  ;  affecting,  as  we  gather  from  various  allusions  in 


THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH.  43 

his  epistles,  his  sight,  his  speech,  and  his  hands.  You 
remember  how  he  could  not  write  his  own  epistles, 
save  a  few  tremulous  lines  at  the  end ;  you  remember 
how  kindly  he  spoke  of  those  who  did  not  despise  his 
"  temptation  which  was  in  his  flesh  ; "  and  who  listened 
with  respect  to  one  whose  "  bodily  presence  was  weak, 
and  his  speech  contemptible ; "  to  one  who  in  his  worn 
features  and  his  emaciated  frame,  was  "  always  bear 
ing  about  in  the  body  the  dying  of  the  Lord  Jesus." 
The  material  thing  for  us  to  bear  in  mind  is  just  this  : 
that  St.  Paul  had  to  bear  something  humiliating  and 
painful ;  painful  as  a  sharp  thorn  ever  pressing  deeper 
into  the  quick  flesh. 

I  need  not  say  to  you,  my  friend,  that  it  is  not 
merely  to  observe  what  the  apostle  did  with  his 
special  cross,  —  how  he  felt  towards  it,  and  how  he 
bore  it,  —  that  I  have  turned  your  thoughts  to  this 
subject.  It  is  because  all  this  is  a  matter  of  such  deep 
personal  concern  to  ourselves.  It  is  because  in  all 
this  we  are  not  looking  at  St.  Paul  the  apostle  and 
the  worker  of  miracles,  doing  things  the  like  of  which 
we  could  never  do ;  but  at  St.  Paul  the  suffering  man, 
bearing  his  burden  as  we  might  ours,  and  feeling  and 
acting  under  it  as  we  might  act  and  feel.  It  is  be 
cause  each  human  being  has  his  own  cross  to  bear ; 
and  because  we  ought  to  do  with  ours  just  what  St. 
Paul  did  with  his,  —  find  out  (that  is)  what  God  is 
seeking  to  teach  us  by  it,  and  understand  the  way  in 
which  God  may  very  likely  deal  with  us  as  concerns 


44  THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH. 

the  bearing  of  it.  And  thus  applying  the  subject  to 
ourselves,  I  take  a  large  view  of  St.  Paul's  thorn  in 
the  flesh  ;  I  look  at  it,  not  in  its  specific  and  peculiar 
nature,  but  just  as  a  great  trial  laid  upon  him  for  a 
certain  end,  and  to  be  borne  in  a  certain  way.  I  take 
the  thorn  in  the  flesh  as  a  type  of  any  great  trial 
which  is  daily  pressing  upon  any  one  who  shall  read 
this  page  ;  bodily  pain,  perhaps,  in  some  ;  disap 
pointed  hopes  and  ambitions,  perhaps,  in  others ; 
separation  from  dear  friends,  it  may  be,  or  their  loss 
by  death  ;  the  frustration  of  some  cherished  plan  on 
which  we  have  set  our  heart ;  domestic  jars  and  dis 
comforts,  perhaps,  with  some ;  poverty  and  priva 
tions  ;  heavy  cares  and  anxieties  as  to  the  means  of 
life,  and  the  like  ;  in  short,  by  the  thorn  in  the  flesh 
I  mean  each  man's  especial  trial  and  sorrow,  —  the 
thing  which  mainly  detracts  from  the  happiness  of  his 
life,  —  the  thing  as  to  which  he  would  be  ready  to 
say,  Oh,  if  that  trouble  were  only  gone,  —  if  I  were 
but  delivered  from  that,  it  would  be  well  with  me. 
That  is  your  thorn  in  the  flesh,  my  friend ;  the  thing 
you  think  you  would  be  happy  and  right,  if  you 
could  just  get  rid  of.  Each  human  being  has  his  own 
peculiar  thorn,  whose  painful  pressure  he  himself 
knows  best ;  many  human  beings  are  ready  to  fancy 
that  they  could  bear  almost  anything,  better  than  the 
particular  trial  which  God  has  been  pleased  to  send 
upon  them.  You  will  find  people  who  speak  as  if 
they  fancied  that  the  Almighty  knew  just  the  sensi- 


THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH.  45 

tive  place  where  they  would  feel  a  blow  most  keenly ; 
and  that  his  hand  fell  heavy  there.  It  is  just  the 
most  cherished  hope  that  is  blighted ;  it  is  just  the 
thing  on  which  you  have  set  your  heart  that  you  are 
least  likely  to  get.  You  may  get  something  else  ; 
perhaps  something  better  ;  but  not  that. 

Now,  my  friend,  the  first  lesson  which  is  suggested 
to  us  by  these  words  which  St.  Paul  speaks,  manifestly 
speaking  from  his  heart,  is  this :  that  the  thorn  in  the 
flesh  comes  for  a  specific  end.  Of  course  it  does  not 
come  by  chance  ;  nothing  does  ;  it  comes  by  God's 
appointment  or  permission.  But  more  than  this;  God 
does  not  send  it  out  of  mere  wilfulness,  or  caprice; 
He  sends  it  for  a  certain  purpose  ;  and  a  purpose 
which  we  may  in  many  cases  find  out.  We  cannot 
always,  indeed,  discover  the  design  for  which  God's 
afflictive  dispensations  come,  of  the  good  that  is  to 
come  of  them.  But  in  many  cases  we  can  discover 
all  that ;  and  whenever  we  feel  the  thorn  pierce  our 
flesh,  we  ought  diligently  and  prayerfully  to  seek  to 
do  so. 

Let  us  look  at  St.  Paul's  case.  There  are  many 
lessons  for  us  in  it.  Was  it  not  hard  that  he  should 
be  weighted  for  the  race  of  life  with  that  which  took 
so  much  from  his  usefulness  and  his  happiness?  It 
was  not  merely  that  the  thorn  in  the  flesh  caused  St. 
Paul  suffering ;  that  would  have  been  a  lesser  trial  to 
one  whose  heart  was  so  entirely  in  his  work ;  if  the 
suffering  had  been  something  that  made  him  do  his 


46  THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH. 

work  better,  he  could  have  welcomed  it  all ;  but  the 
thorn  was  far  worse  than  that :  it  was  something  that 
took  from  his  usefulness  ;  that  faltering  speech,  those 
trembling  hands,  those  weak  eyes,  that  contemptible 
bodily  presence, — -all  these  things  tended  to  make  him 
a  less  successful  missionary  and  apostle ;  ah,  the  thorn 
in  the  flesh  pierced  St.  Paul  just  where  he  would  feel  it 
most  bitterly !  St.  Paul  did  nobly  for  Christ,  as  it  was ; 
but  how  much  greater  and  better  things  he  might  have 
done  !  Take  off  from  him  that  burden  he  bore  ;  give 
him  the  fluent,  fiery  words,  that  would  convey  the 
feelings  of  his  burning  heart ;  give  him  the  swift  hand 
that  could  freely  trace  upon  the  written  page  the 
message  he  so  yearned  to  deliver  ;  give  him  the 
dignified  comma»ding  port  that  should  conciliate  the 
respect  and  attention  of  the  stranger  ;  curb  that  hasty 
temper,  that  came  of  his  shaken  nerves  ;  and  who 
shall  reckon  how  much  more  might  have  been  done 
by  St.  Paul  ?  And  I  believe  that  to  many  an  earnest- 
minded  man,  the  thorn  in  the  flesh,  or  the  crook  in 
the  lot,  never  comes  in  a  form  so  painful  as  in  the 
form  in  which  it  came  to  St.  Paul ;  in  the  form  of 
something  that  diminishes  or  destroys  his  usefulness  ; 
that  keeps  him  from  serving  as  he  would  wish  his 
generation  and  his  Saviour ;  that  constrains  noble 
powers,  or  the  makings  of  noble  powers,  to  rust  sadly 
and  uselessly  away.  Think  of  a  heart,  brimful  of  the 
longing  to  declare  to  dying  sinners  the  unsearchable 
riches  of  Christ ;  but  joined  to  a  feeble,  nerveless 


THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH.  47 

bodily  frame  that  neutralizes  all !  Can  you  imagine  a 
sorer  thorn  in  the  flesh  ?  Or  think  of  wonderful  gifts 
of  nature  and  training ;  cribbed  and  confined  by  cir 
cumstances  to  a  sphere  in  which  they  are  turned  to  no 
account.  Think  of  Moses,  wasting  (as  human  beings 
would  judge)  the  best  years  of  his  life,  as  a  shepherd 
in'  the  desert  of  Midian.  There  was  the  thorn  too  ; 
piercing,  and  wearing,  through  a  full  third  of  his  life ; 
through  forty  long  years  !  And  yet,  hard  as  the  divine 
appointment  appears  in  Paul's  case,  it  was  a  divine  ap 
pointment  ;  it  was  something  which  the  all-wise  God 
deliberately  and  advisedly  did.  And  the  apostle  tells 
us  what  the  thorn  came  for;  and  tells  us  that  he 
needed  it  all.  It  must  have  been  a  hard  thing  for 
him  to  say  ;  but  here  it  is.  He  needed  it  all,  to  keep 
down  a  strong  tendency  to  self-conceit.  Yes  ;  with 
whatever  effort,  St.  Paul  will  tell  us  frankly  the  un 
worthy  weakness  which  the  thorn  in  the  flesh  was  sent 
to  cut  down.  "  Lest  I  should  be  exalted  above  meas 
ure  through  the  abundance  of  the  revelations,  there 
was  given  to  me  a  thorn  in  the  flesh,  the  messenger 
of  Satan  to  buffet  me,  lest  I  should  be  exalted  above 
measure."  The  great  apostle  gives  us  just  one  reason 
why  the  thorn  was  sent :  it  was  sent  to  take  him  down. 
There  were  many  things  which  tended  strongly  to  puff 
him  up  ;  and  he  had  not  got  over  that  lingering  weak 
ness  of  humanity,  —  vanity  and  self-conceit.  He  had 
been  especially  and  wonderfully  honored ;  and  all  this 
tended  to  make  him  self-confident ;  to  make  him  think 


48  THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH. 

how  extraordinary  a  man  he  must  be,  who  was  thus 
distinguished  above  others.  He  had  been  early  con 
spicuous  for  his  learning,  and  for  the  strictness  of  his 
Pharisaic  life  ;  he  had  been  especially  called  to  the 
apostleship  by  the  Saviour  himself;  he  had  been  re 
markable  for  his  usefulness  as  a  preacher  of  the  gos 
pel  ;  doubtless  he  was  held  in  the  highest  estimation 
throughout  all  the  churches  he  had  planted,  and  by 
many  believers  who  felt  that  under  God  they  owed 
everything  to  him.  And  above  all  these  things,  the 
apostle  seems  to  have  placed  the  wonderful  revelations 
that  had  been  especially  vouchsafed  to  himself,  which 
are  mentioned  in  some  preceding  verses  :  how  he  had 
been,  in  the  body  or  out  of  the  body,  caught  up  into  the 
third  heavens  ;  how  he  had  been  caught  up  into  para 
dise,  and  there  heard  unspeakable  words,  not  lawful  for 
a  man  to  utter.  And  coming  back  again  to  this  lower 
world,  with  these  words  yet  ringing  in  his  ears,  and 
the  light  of  that  vision  yet  as  it  were  in  his  face,  we 
can  well  imagine  how  he  might  have  been  disposed  to 
walk  apart  from  his  fellow-men,  as  one  favored  and 
honored  as  very  few  have  been  out  of  all  the  millions 
of  the  race.  But  then  it  was  that  God  gave  him 
something  which  should  save  him  from  high-minded- 
ness  and  self-conceit ;  for  though  "  the  messenger  of 
Satan,"  it  was  yet  "  given  "  by  God  ;  he  would  not 
cherish  pride  above  others,  when  his  special  glory  was 
known  only  to  himself,  and  his  special  infirmity  was 
plain  to  the  eyes  of  all ;  and  so  the  thorn  in  the  flesh 


THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH.  49 

was  given,   u  lest  he  should  be  exalted  above  meas 
ure  ! " 

And  so,  the  thorn  in  the  flesh  was  sent  to  St.  Paul 
by  God ;  and  sent  for  a  certain  specific  purpose  ;  and 
St.  Paul  knew  what  that  purpose  was.  Of  course 
St.  Paul  was  an  inspired  apostle  ;  and  he  was  able  to 
speak  with  an  authority  with  which  we  cannot  speak, 
as  to  the  meaning  and  purpose  of  the  divine  deal 
ings.  When  the  thorn  pierces  us  ;  when  bodily  trou 
ble  comes  upon  us  ;  when  sore  disappointment  is  sent 
to  us ;  when  long  seasons  of  anxiety  and  struggle  must 
be  slowly  dragged  through  ;  when  any  painful  and 
mortifying  thing  befalls  us  ;  we  cannot  be  so  sure  as 
St.  Paul  was  as  to  the  precise  end  God  has  in  view 
by  all  this.  And  more  especially,  when  these  afflic 
tive  things  befall  others ;  when  we  see  disappointment 
and  sorrow  sent  to  our  friends  and  neighbors  ;  we 
should  be  most  careful  to  avoid  any  such  interpreta 
tion  of  these  things  as  is  only  too  common.  You 
will  hear  some  people  say  of  a  misfortune  or  disap 
pointment  which  has  befallen  some  man,  Ah,  that  will 
take  down  his  self-conceit ;  he  needed  it  all ;  it  will  do 
him  a  great  deal  of  good.  Indeed  I  have  never  wit 
nessed  more  manifest  and  disgusting  indications  of 
rancorous  malignity  and  a  thoroughly  bad  heart,  than 
in  people  talking  of  the  misfortunes  and  trials  of  their 
neighbors  as  providential  visitations,  and  as  likely  to 
do  their  neighbors  a  great  deal  of  good.  I  have  re 
marked  that  people  who  never  rejoice  at  the  blessings 
3 


50  THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH. 

of  others  when  these  blessings  come  in  a  pleasant 
shape,  evince  an  immense  delight  at  the  blessings  of 
others  when  these  blessings  come  in  the  painful  guise 
of  disappointments  and  trials.  And  I  shall  venture  to 
believe,  that  the  real  feeling  of  these  people  is  one  of 
pure  malignity  ;  and  that  what  they  rejoice  at  is  not 
the  ultimate  good  that  trials  and  misfortunes  may 
cause  their  neighbors,  but  the  immediate  pain  that 
trials  and  mortifications  are  sure  to  cause.  We  have 
all  known  people  who  had  no  greater  enjoyment,  than 
to  see  an  acquaintance  taken  down  ;  the  misfortune 
of  a  neighbor  was  a  real  blessing  to  these  miserable 
creatures;  and  I  have  not  the  least  doubt  but  that 
among  people  who  knew  St.  Paul  there  would  be  a 
man,  here  and  there,  envious  of  the  great  apostle's 
gifts  and  usefulness,  who  would  chuckle  over  the  thorn 
in  the  flesh ;  who  in  his  heart  would  rejoice  at  the 
suffering  it  caused  the  apostle  ;  yet  who  would  not 
venture  to  express  his  secret  exultation  ;  but  would 
go  about  saying,  "Ah,  that  Saul  of  Tarsus  needs  it 
all.  Very  conceited  man  ;  do  him  a  great  deal  of 
good.  It  will  take  him  down,  teach  him  sense ;  and 
he  needs  very  much  to  be  taught  that ! "  Cannot  you 
imagine,  my  friend,  how  the  envious,  malicious,  tat 
tling  gossips  at  Corinth  would  go  about  from  house  to 
house,  saying  that  kind  of  thing  ?  Now,  my  readers, 
let  none  of  us  here  give  way  to  this  wicked  and  con 
temptible  fashion  of  thinking  and  talking.  What  we 
are  to  do  is  this :  each  of  us  to  try  to  understand  the 


THE  THORN  IN   THE  FLESH.  51 

lesson  which  God  is  addressing  to  his  own  self  by  the 
thorns  and  trials  that  come ;  and  leave  our  neighbors 
to  interpret  their  own  thorns  and  trials.  It  is  beauti 
ful,  it  is  touching,  it  brings  the  tear  to  the  eye,  to  hear 
St.  Paul  himself  telling  all  about  his  thorn  in  the  flesh, 
and  about  how  much  he  needed  it  to  keep  him  down, 
and  about  how  humbly  he  desired  to  submit  to  God's 
heavy  hand.  But  think  how  differently  we  should 
have  felt,  if  anybody  else  had  said  the  very  same 
things  about  Paul ;  how  different  a  thing  it  would  have 
been,  if  Paul  had  told  us  about  Timothy's  weak  health 
and  often  infirmities ;  and  had  said  to  us,  You  know 
Timothy  was  made  a  bishop  very  young  ;  and  he  was 
growing  quite  insufferable,  he  was  so  blown  up  with 
conceit,  till  God  sent  him  this  failing  health  to  take 
him  down  and  keep  him  modest.  Now,  my  friend, 
what  would  you  have  thought,  if  you  had  found  words 
like  these  somewhere  in  Paul's  epistles  ?  You  would 
have  been  astonished,  I  think.  You  would  have  said, 
This  is  not  like  St.  Paul.  You  would  say,  No,  no ; 
Paul  never  wrote  that ;  it  is  an  interpolation ;  it  is 
something  foisted  into  the  manuscript  by  some  one 
who  envied  Timothy  and  hated  him.  Remember  this 
then  :  that  there  is  all  the  difference  in  the  world 
between  talking  as  Paul  does  in  the  text  about  our 
selves,  and  about  any  one  else.  When  trial  comes  to 
ourselves,  let  us  humbly  seek  to  find  out  the  lesson 
God  is  teaching  us  by  it ;  but  let  us  not  presume  to 
say  wherefore  the  trial  has  come  to  any  other  man. 


52  THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH. 

Little  we  know  of  his  heart ;  little  we  know  of  his 
special  temptations,  cares,  and  fears.  I  dare  say  we, 
each  of  us,  may  have  formed  a  theory  of  the  charac 
ter  of  many  a  man  we  see  every  day,  that  is  as  far 
from  the  truth  as  the  old  astronomy  was  from  rightly 
stating  the  nature  and  movements  of  the  stars !  You 
may  have  known  men  accused  of  self-conceit,  by  peo 
ple  who  knew  hardly  anything  of  them,  whom  you 
knew  well  to  be  the  humblest  and  most  shrinking 
of  mankind.  You  may  have  known  men  supposed 
to  be  very  ambitious  and  self-confident,  by  those  to 
whom  they  were  almost  strangers,  who  wished  for 
nothing  more  in  life  than  to  slip  unnoticed  by. 

But,  my  friend,  while  thus  cautioning  you  against 
judging  your  fellow-men  by  what  you  see  of  God's 
providential  dealings  with  them ;  let  me  ask  you, 
when  sorrow  comes  to  you,  or  abides  with  you, 
prayerfully  to  inquire  why  it  has  come  ;  and  what 
God  may  be  intending  to  teach  you  by  it.  You 
know,  if  you  have  indeed  believed  in  Christ,  you 
have  God's  own  promise  that  "  all  things  shall  work 
together  for  good  "  to  you  ;  and  the  thorn  in  the  flesh 
or  the  crook  in  the  lot,  just  like  everything  else.  And 
we  can  see  various  ways  in  which  such  things  may 
work  us  good.  Pain,  trial,  disappointment,  may  all  be 
sanctified  by  the  Blessed  Spirit  to  wean  our  hearts 
from  this  world ;  to  impress  upon  us  that  great  funda 
mental  lesson,  that  "  this  is  not  our  rest;  "  to  lead  us 
with  all  our  heart  to  Jesus,  the  only  satisfying  portion 


THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH.        53 

of  our  never-dying  souls.  And  the  thorn  in  the  flesh 
may  do  us  good  also,  by  giving  us  a  deeper  and  larger 
sympathy  with  others  in  their  trials  and  sorrows. 
People  who  have  not  suffered  themselves  are  very 
impatient  of  the  sufferings  and  complaints  of  other 
people.  We  cannot  properly  understand  a  thing 
which  we  have  never  felt  anything  like.  And  you 
will  find  those  who  get  positively  angry  with  any  one 
who  is  weak  and  ill,  as  if  it  were  all  his  fault.  But 
passing  by  these  lessons  taught  us  by  the  discipline  of 
sorrow,  let  me  turn  your  thoughts  especially  to  the 
lesson  the  thorn  taught  St.  Paul ;  the  lesson  which 
he  tells  us  he  needed ;  and  one  which  perhaps  each 
of  us  knows  that  he  in  some  respect  needs. 

The  thorn  in  the  flesh  was  sent  to  keep  Paul 
humble.  And  we  may  be  quite  sure  it  did  what  it 
was  sent  to  do.  It  would  be  effectual.  The  apostle 
had  many  things  to  puff  him  up ;  but  this  one  thing 
would  keep  him  down.  My  friends,  perhaps,  in  the 
case  of  each  of  us,  most  of  those  who  know  us  would 
find  it  difficult  to  see  any  reason  why  we  should  be 
exalted  above  measure  ;  we  have  not  much  perhaps 
to  be  vain  about ;  yet  who  does  not  know  how  ready 
all  human  beings  are  to  think  of  themselves  far  more 
highly  than  they  ought  to  think  ;  and  to  think  of 
themselves  as  very  different  from  what  they  appear  to 
others  ?  St.  Paul,  you  see,  was  thinking  especially 
about  spiritual  pride,  and  about  temptation  to  be  vain 
of  his  spiritual  gifts  and  attainments ;  and  probably 


54  THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH. 

there  is  no  form  of  self-conceit  that  steals  in  more 
subtly  than  that,  or  needs  to  be  more  rigorously  kept 
down.  A  man  may  feel  a  deep  spiritual  pride  because 
he  is  (as  he  fancies)  so  free  from  spiritual  pride.  And 
indeed  in  all  respects,  —  as  regards  our  talents,  our  in 
fluence,  our  reputation,  our  general  position,  —  there 
is  in  the  heart  of  almost  all  a  tendency,  needing  to  be 
constantly  held  in  check,  to  undue  self-estimation. 
And  this  tendency  is  not  one  that  will  do  to  have  cor 
rected  just  once  for  all.  It  is  not  like  a  tree  that  you 
cut  down  once  for  all  and  are  done  with  ;  it  is  rather 
like  the  grass  of  a  lawn,  which  you  may  mow  down  as 
closely  as  you  can,  and  in  a  little  it  will  grow  up  again 
just  as  before.  Now  Paul's  self-conceit,  you  see,  was 
mown  down  regularly  every  day.  If  it  was  always 
growing,  the  influence  was  always  at  work  to  keep  it 
down.  If  at  any  time  the  thought  began  to  get  the 
upper  hand,  how  great,  and  useful,  and  highly -favored 
a  man  he  was,  —  there  was  the  sharp  thorn  piercing 
in,  sorer  and  deeper ;  and  that  set  him  right.  And 
it  is  so  with  us,  my  friend.  As  surely  as  you  get  to 
grow  out  of  that  humility  which  best  becomes  us ;  as 
surely  as  you  begin  to  cherish  vain  thoughts  and  high 
thoughts ;  so  surely,  if  God  loves  you,  will  something 
come  to  take  you  down ;  so  surely  will  some  thorn  in 
the  flesh  bring  you  back  to  your  better  and  lowlier 
self ;  —  some  fresh  proof  be  given  you,  how  weak  you 
were  where  you  fancied  yourself  strong;  how  little 
esteemed  where  you  thought  it  far  otherwise ;  how 


THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH.  55 

feeble,  worldly,  and  imperfect  a  believer  you  are  yet ; 
how  little  grown  up  to  that  stature  in  grace  to  which 
you  fancied  you  had  grown.  And  painful  as  these 
lessons  may  be,  we  need  them  all.  And  if  they  be 
sanctified  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  they  will  effectually  do 
their  work.  We  shall  not  think  much  of  ourselves  in 
the  day  of  crushing  sorrow.  There  will  be  a  constant 
lesson  of  humility  in  remembrance  of  some  sin  into 
which  we  fell,  or  in  even  the  remembrance  of  some 
act  of  weakness  and  folly.  You  look  back,  my  read 
ers,  over  your  past  life,  and  you  remember  many 
things  such  as  we  take  to  be  symbolized  by  that 
humbling  thorn  of  St.  Paul.  You  have  had  many 
takings  down.  You  have  had  many  things  tending 
to  make  you  lowly ;  and  they  are  coming  every  now 
and  then  ;  perhaps  there  is  some  humbling  thorn  from 
which  you  are  -never  free.  But  was  it  not  all  needed  ? 
Very  few  can  say  that  they  are  too  humble  with  it  all ! 
Which  of  us  can  say  that  we  feel  our  sinfulness  and 
helplessness  too  much  ;  and  that  we  are  clinging  to 
our  Blessed  Saviour  too  earnestly  ?  Which  of  us  can 
say  that  we  feel  too  deeply  our  utter  weakness ;  and 
that  we  are  praying  too  often  and  too  heartily  for  the 
aids  of  that  Holy  Spirit  who  alone  can  bring  us  safely 
through?  Ah,  my  readers,  many  as  may  have  been 
our  trials,  our  disappointments,  our  temptations,  let 
us  thank  our  God  for  them ;  for  we  needed  them  all ! 

And  now  we  come  to  a  most  interesting  part  of  the 


56  THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH. 

subject.  See  what  the  apostle  did  about  his  thorn  in 
the  flesh ;  see  what  God  did !  St.  Paul  tells  us  that 
he  did  not  like  the  thorn  in  the  flesh  ;  no  man  can 
like  what  is  painful  and  humiliating  ;  and  three  times 
he  besought  God  that  the  thorn  in  the  flesh  might  be 
taken  away.  "  For  this  thing  I  besought  the  Lord 
thrice."  Thrice,  you  know,  is  a  number  indefinitely 
used  in  Scripture ;  we  may  be  sure  Paul  offered  that 
prayer  far  oftener  than  the  bare  three  times.  Every 
day,  I  doubt  not,  when  the  thorn  was  first  sent ;  morn 
ing,  evening,  noonday,  would  the  earnest  supplication 
go  up  from  his  very  heart,  that  this  heavy  burden 
might  be  taken  from  him ;  surely  it  could  never  be 
God's  will  that  through  the  long  years  of  all  his  com 
ing  life  he  was  to  bear  that  heavy  and  crushing  weight ! 
My  reader,  have  not  you  done  the  same  ?  Have  not 
you  prayed  in  earnestness,  yea,  in  bitterness  of  heart, 
that  some  cup  appointed  you  might  pass  away  ;  —  have 
not  you  prayed  in  earnestness  that  some  sore  trial, 
that  you  thought  would  darken  all  your  life,  might  be 
spared  you ;  that  some  bodily  disease  would  leave 
you;  that  some  sorrowful  bereavement  you  saw  com 
ing  might  be  kept  off;  that  the  plans  and  hopes  of 
years  might  not  be  frustrated ;  in  short,  that  your 
special  thorn  might  depart?  And  perhaps  Paul's 
answer  was  yours.  See  what  God  said  to  Paul's 
prayer.  The  thorn  in  the  flesh  was  not  to  depart. 
It  was  to  hang  about  the  great  apostle,  burdening  and 
humbling  him,  till  the  last  breath  went  out  from  that 


THE  THORN  IN  THE  FLESH.        57 

feeble  frame.  He  was  never  again  to  be  like  other 
men,  —  that  great  apostle  Paul !  And  yet,  who  shall 
say  that  his  prayer  was  not  answered ;  nobly,  fully, 
sublimely  answered !  There  are  two  ways  of  help 
ing  a  man,  burdened  with  what  he  has  to  do  or 
bear.  The  one  way  is  to  give  him  less  to  do  or 
bear ;  to  take  the  burden  off  the  back.  The  other 
way  is  to  strengthen  him  to  do  or  bear  all  that  is  sent 
him  ;  to  strengthen  the  back  to  bear  the  burden.  In 
brief,  you  may  give  less  work ;  or  you  may  give  more 
strength.  And  it  was  in  this  way,  which  even  we  can 
see  is  the  better  and  nobler  way,  that  the  wise  and 
almighty  Saviour  thought  it  best  to  answer  his  ser 
vant's  prayer.  "  My  grace  is  sufficient  for  thee  :  for  my 
strength  is  made  perfect  in  weakness."  Yes,  St.  Paul's 
weakness  was  to  be  supplemented  by  God's  almighty 
strength ;  the  thorn  was  still  to  pierce,  but  patience  to 
bear  it  all  was  to  be  sent ;  the  load  was  to  press  heavy 
on  the  back,  but  the  back  was  to  be  strengthened  in 
just  degree.  And  we  do  not  need  to  go  far  for  proof 
how  completely  God's  promise  was  fulfilled.  How 
thoroughly  resigned  Paul  was  ;  how  sanctified  to  him 
must  that  thorn  have  been ;  how  strengthened  his 
heart  must  have  been  with  an  unearthly  strength ; 
when  he  could  honestly  write  such  words  as  follow 
his  account  of  his  Redeemer's  promise  !  Oh,  the  thorn 
was  there,  piercing  as  deep  as  ever ;  marring  his  use 
fulness,  making  him  seem  weak  and  contemptible  to 
the  stranger  ;  but  he  liked  to  have  to  feel,  from  hour  to 
3* 


58  THE  THORN  IN   THE  FLESH. 

hour,  that  he  must  be  always  going  anew  to  God  for 
help  ;  he  liked  the  assurance  of  the  Blessed  Spirit's 
presence  which  he  drew  hourly  from  feeling  himself 
kept  up  to  bear  without  a  murmur  what  he  knew 
that  by  himself  he  never  could  have  borne  ;  and  so 
he  wrote,  not  perhaps  without  a  natural  tear,  "  Most 
gladly  therefore  will  I  rather  glory  in  my  infirmities, 
that  the  power  of  Christ  may  rest  upon  me  !  " 

We  cannot  but  think,  drawing  these  thoughts  to  a 
close,  how  Holy  Scripture  sets  before  us  two  men, 
who  were  favored  with  very  near  revelations  of  God  ; 
and  each  of  whom  was  visited  with  a  thorn  in  the 
flesh  to  keep  him  down,  and  to  keep  him  in  mind. 
You  remember  the  patriarch  Jacob,  by  that  stream  at 
Peniel ;  —  how  there  he  saw  God  face  to  face,  and 
won  a  special  blessing  through  persevering  prayer. 
You  remember  how  he  went  away  from  that  place, 
under  the  rising  sun,  as  a  prince  who  had  prevailed 
with  God ;  but  you  remember,  too,  how  he  went,  not 
with  the  free  and  active  step  of  former  days ;  how  as 
he  passed  over  Peniel  he  halted  on  his  thigh  ;  and  he 
went  lamely  through  all  his  after-life,  bearing  about 
that  thorn  in  the  flesh  in  memory  of  that  great  spirit 
ual  blessing.  And  so  St.  Paul,  caught  up  where 
living  man  has  rarely  ever  been ;  and  who  heard 
words  which  mortal  ears  have  rarely  heard ;  bore 
always  afterwards  that  thorn  in  the  flesh  to  keep  him 
humble.  My  friends,  have  you  found  special  comfort 


THE  THORN  IN    THE  FLESH.  59 

in  communion  seasons  ;  special  joy  in  Christ ;  special 
sense  of  God's  favor ;  manifold  proofs  of  God's  good 
ness  in  your  daily  lot ;  then  seek  to  be  humble  with  it 
all,  that  the  sore  discipline  may  not  be  needed,  which, 
if  needed,  will  (in  some  form)  surely  be  sent.  And 
should  God  be  pleased  to  send  us  the  thorn  ;  if  there 
be  those  who  feel  the  thorn  even  now  ;  if  there  be 
those  bowed  under  bereavement,  or  blank  with  disap 
pointed  hopes ;  oh,  my  friends,  do  like  St.  Paul  under 
his  sore  trial ;  learn  the  lesson  of  humility  God  is 
teaching  you  by  it.  We  blame  you  not,  if  thrice,  and 
more  than  thrice,  you  beseech  God  to  take  the  bitter 
cup  away.  But  if  he  see  meet  to  deny  that  prayer ; 
if  he  see  meet  to  continue  the  trial  even  to  the  end 
of  life  ;  oh,  pray  for  the  better  and  sublimer  blessing 
of  grace  sufficient  for  you,  —  of  strength  made  perfect 
in  the  weakness  of  your  feeble  and  sorrowful  hearts. 
And  so,  by  God's  kind  grace,  and  by  the  comfort  of 
that  Blessed  Spirit  whom  we  humbly  desire  for  our 
closest  companion  ;  so  it  may  come  to  this,  that  you 
shall  never  wish  things  other  than  they  are ;  that  you 
shall  be  content  that  the  path  be  thorny  and  steep,  so 
it  lead  at  last  to  our  heavenly  Father's  dwelling  ;  and 
so  that  meanwhile,  "most  gladly  shall  you  rather 
glory  in  your  infirmities,"  —  in  your  trials,  disappoint 
ments,  and  losses,  —  "  that  the  power  of  Christ  may 
rest  upon  you  !  " 


IV. 


THE   GIFT   OF   SLEEP. 

"  For  so  he  giveth  his  beloved  sleep,"  —  PSALM  cxxvii.  2. 

shall  better  understand  what  is,  in  the 
first  and  most  obvious  force  of  the  words, 
taught  and  suggested  by  this  text,  if  we 
remember  what  is  the  general  bearing 
of  the  psalm  in  which  it  stands,  and  what  were  the 
circumstances  in  which  it  is  believed  to  have  been 
written.  The  psalm  bears  the  title,  "  A  Song  for 
Solomon  ; "  and  the  usual  belief  is,  that  this  psalm 
was  written  by  David,  and  dedicated  to  his  son ;  with 
the  purpose  of  keeping  Solomon  in  mind  of  a  great 
truth,  which  every  man  should  seek  devoutly  to  re 
member,  and  which  it  was  especially  desirable  that 
Solomon  should  lay  to  heart.  That  truth  was,  that 
God's  blessing  must  go  with  all  man's  labor,  in  order 
that  man's  labor  should  be  effectual.  No  exertion  ; 
no  skill ;  no  setting  early  to  work,  nor  sitting  up  late 
at  it;  can  make  sure  that  our  plans  shall  succeed, 
without  the  help  and  blessing  of  God.  It  is  utterly 
vain  for  the  creature  to  think  to  set  up  independently 
of  the  Creator.  Now  Solomon  was  a  wise  man  ;  and 


THE  GIFT  OF  SLEEP.  61 

he  was  likely  to  know  that  he  was  so  ;  and  there  were 
sure  to  be  plenty  of  people  about  him  to  tell  him  how 
wise  he  was  ;  and  so  his  father  desired  to  caution  him 
against  undue  reliance  on  his  own  wisdom.  Then 
Solomon  had  much  work  before  him  when  he  should 
become  king.  He  had  God's  temple  to  build  ;  and  it 
was  well  to  remind  him,  that  "  except  the  Lord  build 
the  house,  they  labor  in  vain  that  build  it."  He  had 
his  city  and  his  kingdom  to  guard  against  evil  and  in 
vasion  ;  and  it  was  well  to  remind  him,  that  "  except 
the  Lord  keep  the  city,  the  watchman  waketh  but  in 
vain."  And  the  Psalmist  seems  to  anticipate  an  an 
swer  to  all  this  ;  he  seems  to  anticipate  his  son's  say 
ing,  What,  will  not  my  most  diligent  and  self-denying 
labors  suffice  ?  If  I  toil  early  and  late,  if  I  cut  off  my 
enjoyments  and  recreations,  and  give  my  whole  mind 
to  it ;  may  I  not  then  please  myself  by  thinking  that  I 
can  build  the  house  and  keep  the  city  for  myself? 
No,  the  Psalmist  says  ;  all  that  is  quite  useless.  "  It 
is  vain  for  you  to  rise  up  early,  to  sit  up  late,  to  eat 
the  bread  of  sorrows."  Not  that  David  undervalued 
hard  work ;  not  that  he  did  not  know  the  virtue  there 
is  in  hard  work  ;  not  that  he  was  ignorant  that  there 
are  few  things  worth  much  in  this  world  that  can  be 
had  or  done  except  by  hard  work  ;  but  still  all  those 
long  hours,  all  that  hard  self-denial,  would  never  make 
a  man  independent  of  God  ;  would  never  come  to  any 
end  but  by  God's  help  and  blessing.  And  then,  if 
that  blessing  be  given,  what  is  worth  having  or  desiring 


62  THE  GIFT  OF  SLEEP. 

of  worldly  or  spiritual  good  may  come  without  that 
life-wearing  toil ;  the  time  spent  in  seeking  God's 
blessing  upon  our  work  will  be  as  profitably  spent  as 
the  time  spent  in  actual  labor  ;  our  task  will  sit  the 
lighter  upon  body  and  mind,  if  we  cast  the  care  of  it 
upon  our  God,  and  do  not  try  to  bear  it  all  ourselves  ; 
"  for  surely  he  giveth  his  beloved  sleep."  The  word 
translated  so  ought  to  be  surely.  The  proper  meaning 
of  my  text  is,  "  Surely  the  Lord  giveth  his  beloved 
sleep."  And  I  have  told  you  the  way  in  which  it 
comes  in. 

It  is  known,  I  doubt  not,  to  many  of  you,  that  a 
certain  great  genius  who  died  not  long  ago,  declared 
that  there  was  no  text,  even  in  that  book  of  Psalms 
whose  sentences  come  so  wonderfully  home  to  our 
hearts  still,  though  spoken  to  us  across  the  ocean  of 
three  thousand  years,  that  fell  upon  her  ear  so  com 
fortingly  and  so  sublimely,  as  this  which  tells  us  what 
gift  it  is  that  God  Almighty  gives,  as  a  great  and  good 
gift,  to  such  as  he  holds  dear.  "  Surely  he  giveth 
his  beloved  sleep."  You  remember  how  one  of  the 
wisest  of  heathens  wrote,  as  a  great  principle  arrived 
at  through  the  meditation  of  a  long  life,  that  "  the 
end  of  work  is  to  enjoy  rest."  And  you  will  think 
of  One,  wiser  than  the  Greek  philosopher,  who  seems 
to  have  thought  as  he  did  as  to  what  was  the  largest 
and  best  blessing  which  can  be  offered  to  man.  You 
remember  the  blessed  words  of  Him  who  made  us 
and  who  died  for  us :  "  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that 


THE  GIFT  OF  SLEEP.  63 

labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest." 
We  must  be  somewhat  subdued,  indeed,  by  the  wear 
and  toil  of  this  weary  world ;  and  we  must  have 
gained  an  insight  into  the  deepest  wants  of  our  spirit 
ual  nature,  such  as  comes  commonly  through  fuller 
experience  and  longer  thought ;  before  we  shall  ap 
preciate  such  words  completely.  It  is  the  toilworn 
man  that  knows  the  worth  of  repose ;  it  is  the  jaded 
pilgrim  that  understands  best  what  it  must  be  to  sit 
down  at  home ;  and  as  we  go  on,  year  after  year,  till 
our  hearts  begin  to  grow  a  little  weary,  there  is  music, 
growing  always  sweeter,  in  the  ancient  words  of  the 
patient  patriarch,  "  There  the  wicked  cease  from 
troubling,  and  there  the  weary  are  at  rest !  " 

There  are  three  shades  of  meaning  in  which  we 
purpose  to  understand  this  text;  and  to  rest  for  a 
little  in  its  contemplation. 

And  first :  take  the  most  obvious  meaning  of  the 
words.  God  "  giveth  his  beloved  sleep."  People 
whose  whole  heart  is  set  upon  this  world  may  rise 
early,  and  sit  late,  and  eat  the  bread  of  anxiety  and 
sorrow,  in  their  eager  pursuit  of  worldly  aims  and 
ends,  —  in  their  breathless  quest  of  wealth,  or  emi 
nence,  or  success  in  some  of  its  many  forms ;  and 
thus  these  men  may  be  so  fevered  and  wrought  up, 
and  have  their  thoughts  so  full  of  the  perplexities  of 
business,  and  of  its  manifold  cares  and  worries,  that 
when  the  jading  day  is  done  at  last,  and  they  lay  their 
busy  head  upon  their  pillow,  sleep  may  fly  from  them; 


64  THE  GIFT  OF  SLEEP. 

and  they  may  seek  its  blessed  refreshment  and  for- 
getfulness  in  vain.  Now,  this  is  not  a  small  matter. 
Looking  at  its  entire  effect  upon  mind  and  body ; 
looking  at  what  it  testifies  as  to  the  unhealthy  and 
overdriven  state  of  those  parts  of  our  physical  nature 
which  stand  in  closest  relation  to  the  immaterial  and 
immortal  soul ;  we  can  see  that  it  is  a  most  grave  and 
weighty  matter.  There  are  few  things  more  dispirit 
ing,  and  more  wearing  out,  than  the  loss  of  our  natural 
rest.  To  count  hour  after  hour  in  feverish  wakeful- 
ness,  seeking  that  forgetfulness  which  will  not  come ; 
to  feel  the  mind  within  stimulated  to  a  preternatural 
activity,  and  refusing  to  recall  any  but  the  most  sor 
rowful  thoughts ;  to  be  stung  by  a  host  of  painful  and 
distressing  remembrances  of  the  past  and  anxieties 
for  the  future,  —  each  (as  it  were)  coining  up  and 
striking  its  little  poisoned  dart  into  your  nature ;  many 
a  one  knows  well  how  dismal  a  thing  all  that  is. 
There  are  physical  causes,  doubtless,  in  many  cases  ; 
we  may  be  told  of  unhealthy  excitement  of  the  brain, 
and  of  undue  sensitiveness  of  the  nervous  system  ; 
but  I  go  beyond  these  second  causes,  and  I  say  that 
as  a  general  rule,  the  great  cause  of  those  weary 
hours  of  wakefulness,  anxiety,  and  misery,  is  want  of 
faith  in  God.  It  is  because  we  are  not  able,  as  we 
ought,  to  trust  ourselves  and  all  that  concerns  us  to 
his  sure  providence  and  his  thoughtful  care.  You 
know  quite  well,  my  friends,  that  it  is  mental  anxiety 
and  worry  that  break  your  rest;  that  it  is  because 


THE  GIFT  OF  SLEEP.  65 

you  are  trying  to  bear  the  burden  yourselves,  to  build 
the  house  yourselves,  to  keep  the  city  yourselves,  that 
you  have  those  anxious,  miserable  hours ;  it  is  because 
you  will  plan  too  far  ahead,  instead  of  letting  each 
day  bear  its  own  evil,  —  because  you  will  keep  asking 
what  is  to  become  of  you  and  your  children  if  such 
and  such  an  event  takes  place,  —  because  you  will  try 
to  take  the  reins  of  your  lot  into  your  own  hands,  in 
stead  of  leaving  the  direction  of  it  all  to  his  wisdom 
and  kindness,  —  it  is  because  of  these  things  that  you 
so  often  rise  unrefreshed  from  your  weary  bed,  to  take 
to  the  dreary  round  again.  Ah,  my  friends,  if  you 
had  all  of  you  a  stronger  trust  in  God,  you  would 
have  sounder  sleep  !  If  you  have  really  sought  and 
so  found  the  good  fruit  in  Christ ;  if  you  are  sure  that 
nothing  can  go  amiss  with  you,  —  that  all  things  are 
ordered  for  your  good,  —  that  "  the  Lord  will  pro 
vide," —  that  the  daily  bread  and  the  daily  strength 
will  come  with  the  day  that  is  to  need  them,  —  that 
God  will  guide  you  by  his  counsel  while  you  live,  and 
receive  you  to  his  glory  when  you  die,  —  that  through 
all  your  way,  in  dark  and  in  light,  angels  guide  your 
steps  and  guard  your  beds,  and  that  the  Holy  Spirit 
of  God  himself  dwells  within  you  from  hour  to  hour ; 
oh,  how  free  from  care  and  fear  you  will  lay  your 
head  upon  your  pillow,  and  sink  into  gentle  forgetful- 
ness  ;  to  rise  again  with  the  morning  light  refreshed 
and  cheerful  and  hopeful !  You  know,  that  when  all 
is  said  that  can  be  said  of  physical  causes,  it  is  the 


66  THE  GIFT  OF  SLEEP. 

things  that  prey  on  our  mind  by  day  that  break  our 
rest  at  night.  And  you  know,  too,  how  in  those  still, 
waking  hours,  those  thoughts  of  how  it  stands  with 
him  from  eternity,  and  of  the  accumulated  guilt  of  his 
past  life,  which  the  heedless  sinner  can  keep  off  amid 
the  occupations  and  the  companions  of  the  day,  force 
themselves  in,  and  demand  that  they  shall  be  listened 
to.  It  is  impossible,  then,  quite  to  suppress  the  ques 
tion,  where  the  soul  is  to  be  when  the  body  shall  lie 
down  on  its  last  lowly  bed ;  when  all  earthly  things 
have  faded  from  around  us  like  the  fading  light ;  and 
left  us  no  other  comfort  but  that  which  we  may  draw 
from  things  eternal  !  But  if  you  can  humbly  trust 
that  it  is  well  with  you ;  that  amid  your  deep-felt 
unworthiness  you  are  simply  believing  on  the  Saviour, 
and  daily  striving  to  grow  like  him ;  that  your  task  is 
appointed  you  by  God ;  that  he  is  always  ready  to 
help  you  in  it ;  that  you  and  those  dear  to  you  are 
provided  for  by  him,  and  that  so  effectually  that  you 
never  shall  want  anything  that  is  truly  good  for  you, 
—  and  you  remember  the  promise,  "  They  that  fear 
the  Lord  shall  not  want  any  good  thing  ; "  then,  how 
pleasantly  you  may  rest  and  how  cheerfully  wake  ! 
Surely  God  will  "give  his  beloved,  sleep!" 

Now,  in  the  second  place,  let  us  understand  the 
text  in  a  less  literal  way.  We  all  know  that  healthful 
sleep  is  our  most  peaceful  state.  In  the  untroubled, 
dreamless,  refreshing  repose  of  health  after  fatigue, 
you  see  human  nature  in  that  state  in  which  it  is  most 


THE  GIFT  OF  SLEEP.  G7 

thoroughly  free  from  all  annoyance  or  trouble.  You 
all  remember  the  Spanish  proverb  as  to  the  comfort 
with  which  sleep  wraps  us  round.  And  in  this  view, 
we  read  in  the  text  something  to  remind  us  how  amid 
all  the  anxieties  and  competitions  of  life,  God  has 
promised  peace  to  his  own.  "  Peace  I  leave  with 
you  ;  my  peace  I  give  unto  you."  "  Thou  wilt  keep 
him  in  perfect  peace  whose  mind  is  stayed  upon  God." 
But  how  little  there  is  of  that  even  amid  such  as  pro 
fess  to  be  true  believers  !  How  far  is  the  peace  from 
being  "  perfect "  even  of  the  best  believers !  You 
remember  the  single  word  in  which  the  ancient 
schoolman  hit  what  he  conceived  to  be  the  great 
characteristic  of  this  life.  "  I  entered  this  world,"  he 
said,  "  in  lowliness  ;  I  have  lived  in  it  in  anxiety  ;  I 
shall  leave  it  in  fear."  And  there  can  be  little  doubt, 
I  think,  that  he  was  right.  Anxiety,  care,  are  the 
characteristics  of  most  lives  here.  You  need  not  go 
far  for  the  proof  of  this.  Look  at  the  faces  of  the 
people  you  see  upon  the  street ;  remark  their  expres 
sion.  You  will  very  seldom  see  a  cheerful  face. 
Almost  every  face  you  meet,  beyond  early  youth,  is 
careworn  and  anxious.  There  is  no  doubt  that  care 
sits  heavy  upon  the  majority  of  mankind.  You  know 
the  anxious  look  and  the  inelastic  step  of  most  middle- 
aged  people  in  this  country.  No  doubt,  there  may  be 
something  due  to  the  nation  and  the  race.  "  They 
took  their  pleasure  sadly,  according  to  the  fashion  of 
their  nation ; "  there  is  no  need  to  tell  you  of  what 


68  THE  GIFT  OF  SLEEP. 

nation  the  old  chronicler  said  that.  And  you  know 
how  the  greatest  physical  philosopher  of  modern  times 
tells  us  that  far  in  the  American  woods,  beyond  the 
reach  of  civilization  and  the  cares  that  come  of  it, 
he  found  an  unwrinkled  tribe,  on  whose  smooth  faces, 
fresh  and  young-looking  even  to.  the  verge  of  life, 
anxiety  seemed  never  to  have  drawn  a  line.  And 
some  of  you  will  think  of  a  sublime  description,  given 
by  a  great  poet,  of  the  fresh,  serene,  unanxious  life  of 
certain  of  the  free  foresters  who  were  the  pioneers  of 
civilization  in  the  wilds  of  the  far  western  world.  But 
still  taking  the  life  we  lead,  I  think  you  will  hold  by 
the  schoolman's  "  Anxious  I  have  lived."  You  know 
how  many  people,  even  when  they  could  not  tell  you 
of  any  particular  thing  about  which  they  are  anxious, 
do  yet  live  under  the  pressure  of  constant  vague 
forebodings  of  ill.  If  some  hasty,  unexpected  mes 
senger  were  of  a  sudden  to  come  for  any  of  you,  your 
first  question  would  be,  What  is  wrong  ?  You  would 
be  sure  that  something  was  amiss.  And  what  testi 
mony  does  that  one  little  indication  bear  to  the  too 
well-grounded  anxiety  for  the  future  under  which  most 
human  beings  live  !  Now,  my  Christian  friends,  that 
is  not  like  the  perfect  peace  which  God  has  promised ; 
that  is  not  like  the  peace  and  the  rest  which  the 
Saviour  told  us  he  would  give  to  such  as  went  to 
him  in  simple  faith.  But  remember  this  ;  that  faith 
in  our  hearts  is  as  it  were  the  hand  which  we  stretch 
forth  to  receive  all  the  gifts  of  God's  grace.  We 


THE  GIFT  OF  SLEEP.  69 

receive  salvation,  you  know,  of  God's  free  grace ;  yet 
we  must  believe  that  we  may  be  saved ;  we  must 
stretch  out  the  hand  of  faith,  and  lay  hold  of  the 
salvation  freely  offered  us.  And  it  is  just  the  same 
with  the  promised  blessing  of  rest  and  peace  amid  all 
the  agitations  of  life.  God  has  promised  it ;  God  is 
ready  to  give  it ;  but  we  must  receive  it  by  faith. 
And  we  may  confidently  say,  that  the  amount  of 
peace  and  quiet  that  we  shall  experience  in  this  tur 
bulent  and  troublesome  world,  will  be  in  exact  pro 
portion  to  the  strength  and  reality  of  our  trust  in  God. 
If  we  were  able  really  to  trust  God  with  everything, 
and  with  a  whole  heart,  instead  of  doing  as  most 
Christians  do,  —  never  trusting  God  more  than  they 
can  help,  and  never  feeling  quite  safe  as  to  what  he 
may  do ;  if  we  were  able  truly  to  cast  our  cares  and 
roll  our  burdens  upon  him,  instead  of  trying  to  bear 
them  all  ourselves  ;  oh,  what  a  blessed  fulfilment  there 
would  be  of  the  promise  in  the  text !  Surely  God 
would  then  indeed  have  given  his  beloved  peace  and 
rest !  "We  should  do  our  best ;  and  then,  with  perfect 
confidence,  leave  the  issue  of  all  with  God.  And 
then,  the  lined  face  will  grow  smooth  again  ;  and  the 
heavy  heart  would  grow  light ;  the  mind,  beset  with 
anxious  calculations  and  forebodings  of  evil,  "  careful 
and  troubled  about  many  things,"  would  be  buoyant 
and  free  once  more  ;  —  for  our  heart  would  be  "  stayed 
upon  God,"  and  then  we  should  be  "kept  in  perfect 


70  THE  GIFT   OF  SLEEP. 

But  I  wish  here  to  suggest  to  you,  that  probably 
the  thing  which  is  at  the  foundation  of  that  vague  dis 
quiet  and  apprehension  which  in  the  case  of  many 
does  so  much  to  gnaw  away  the  enjoyment  of  life,  is 
one  of  which  they  do  not  think.  Some  people  are 
disposed  to  say,  Oh,  if  I  could  only  be  free  from  such 
and  such  a  thing  that  vexes  me  and  keeps  me  anxious, 
I  should  be  all  right ;  everything  else  is  as  I  would 
wish,  but  that  one  bitter  drop  in  the  cup  turns  it  all 
to  bitterness  !  Now,  any  such  idea  is  quite  mistaken. 
I  believe  that  the  real  reason  of  the  disquiet  of  many 
hearts  is,  that  they  are  not  right  with  God  ;  they  have 
never  truly  and  heartily  believed  in  Jesus  Christ. 
They  may  have  thought  a  good  deal  about  religion  ; 
but  still  they  vaguely  feel  within  themselves  that  they 
have  never  fairly  taken  the  decisive  step.  Now,  we 
cannot  be  converted  to  God  unless  it  be  heartily  ;  we 
cannot  go  to  Christ  and  at  the  same  time  hold  by  the 
world  just  as  we  used  to  do  ;  we  cannot  put  our  hand 
to  the  plough,  and  at  the  same  time  look  back,  and 
hang  back,  and  turn  back.  And  if  a  human  being 
thinks  at  all,  he  can  never  be  otherwise  than  vaguely 
uneasy,  unhappy,  unsatisfied,  restless,  anxious,  till  he 
has  really  and  heartily  believed  in  Christ ;  till  he  is 
able,  very  humbly  indeed,  and  with  no  vain  self-con 
fidence,  to  say,  "  I  know  Whom  I  have  believed ;  and 
I  am  persuaded  that  he  is  able  to  keep  that  which  I 
have  committed  to  him  against  that  day."  I  am  not 
careful  to  explain  the  logical  steps  of  the  process; 


THE  GIFT  OF  SLEEP.  71 

there  are  many  things  in  the  working  of  our  deepest 
consciousness  which  are  beyond  our  logic ;  but  let  me 
say  to  every  one  who  hears  me,  who  is  always  vaguely 
foreboding  ill,  who  trembles  at  the  coming  of  post- 
time,  lest  it  may  bring  some  terrible  bad  news,  — 
whose  imagination  is  always  running  upon  the  sad 
contingencies  and  possibilities  of  evil  which  hang 
over  our  life  here,  —  who  carries  only  too  far  the 
wise  man's  admonition,  not  to  "  boast  of  to-morrow," 
because  we  "  know  not  what  a  day  may  bring  forth  ;  " 
to  every  such  person  let  me  say,  Try  a  different  way 
of  escaping  from  your  cares  and  fears  than  perhaps 
you  have  been  trying  ;  the  thing  that  is  at  the  bot 
tom  of  them  all  is  the  lurking  fear  that  you  are  not 
right  with  God  ;  it  is  that  which  is  eating  the  heart 
out  of  your  enjoyment  of  life  ;  it  is  that  which  keeps 
you  vaguely  unsatisfied  and  fearful ;  oh  pray  to  have 
that  set  right,  and  then  it  will  be  well  with  you  !  Do 
not  foolishly  refuse  to  examine  into  the  truth  of  the 
case ;  probe  your  nature  to  the  uttermost ;  it  will  not 
heal  a  deep,  poisoned  wound,  just  to  skin  it  over  ;  if 
you  have  been  wrong  till  now,  oh  begin  and  be  right 
from  to-day  !  Go  to  God,  and  say,  I  am  a  poor,  sin 
ful,  trembling  creature  ;  I  fear  I  have  been  deceiving 
myself,  and  thinking  of  myself  far  too  well  ;  yet  as  I 
am  I  come  to  thee  once  more,  and  ask  mercy  and 
grace  only  through  Christ !  O  brethren,  get  the  great 
central  stay  made  firm  and  sure ;  and  all  will  be  well. 
But  if  the  keystone  of  the  arch  be  wrong,  or  even 


72  THE  GIFT  OF  SLFJLP. 

doubtful,  then  all  is  amiss.  The  great  step  towards 
trusting  all  to  God  as  your  Father,  is  to  be  really 
persuaded  that  God  is  your  Father  ;  to  be  persuaded 
that  he  loves  you,  unworthy  as  you  are  ;  to  be  per 
suaded  that  he  reckons  you  among  those  to  whom 
the  promise  is  given,  "  Surely  he  giveth  his  beloved 
rest ! " 

And  I  ask  you,  my  brethren,  to  remark  the  kind  of 
peace  and  rest  which  the  Saviour  gives  his  people  ; 
and  will  give  us,  if  we  seek  and  pray  for  it.  If  quiet 
and  peace  could  be  had  only  by  withdrawing  from  the 
duties  and  occupations  of  active  life,  then  quiet  and 
peace  for  most  of  us  could  never  be.  Not  many  of 
us,  perhaps,  could  escape  from  manifold  work  and 
care  in  this  life.  Where  most  of  us  are  placed  in  this 
world,  we  are  likely  to  remain  to  the  end;  it  is  not  in 
our  power  to  fly  to  some  far  and  still  retreat,  in  whose 
quiet  we  might  escape  the  evils  and  troubles  here. 
And  the  corner  will  never  be  found  in  this  world, 
where  care  and  evil  shall  be  unknown  by  human  be 
ings.  But  the  peace  which  the  Saviour  gives  his 
own,  is  peace  of  heart  and  mind  amid  daily  duties. 
It  is  that  "  central  peace  '*'  which  may  "  subsist  at  the 
heart  of  endless  agitation."  When  you  look  at  the 
believer's  busy  life,  you  may  see  no  trace  of  his  in 
ward  peace  of  soul.  But  you  know  that  the  ocean, 
under  the  hurricane,  is  lashed  into  those  huge  waves 
and  that  wild  foam  only  upon  the  surface.  Not  very 


THE  GIFT  OF  SLEEP.  73 

far  down,  the  waters  are  still  as  an  autumn  noon  ; 
there  is  not  a  ripple  or  breath  or  motion.  And  so, 
my  friends,  if  we  had  the  faith  we  ought,  though  there 
might  be  ruffles  upon  the  surface  of  our  lot,  we  should 
have  the  inward  peace  of  perfect  faith  in  God.  Amid 
the  dreary  noises  of  this  world ;  amid  its  cares  and 
tears ;  amid  its  hot  contentions,  ambitions,  and  disap 
pointments;  we  should  have  an  inner  calm  like  the 
serene  ocean  depths,  to  which  the  influence  of  the 
wild  winds  and  waves  above  can  never  come  ! 

And  in  the  third  place,  my  friends,  we  come  to  a 
yet  sublimer  sense  in  which  we  may  understand  the 
text.  Let  us  think  of  the  last,  deepest,  and  longest 
sleep,  as  given  by  God.  "  Surely  he  giveth  his  be 
loved  sleep  ;  "  he  gives  it ;  and  gives  it  to  those  whom 
he  holds  dearest ;  sleep ;  all  sleep ;  every  kind  and 
form  of  it.  You  remember  how  God's  Word  names 
the  violent  end  of  the  martyr  Stephen  ;  "  he  fell  asleep." 
You  remember  how  the  apostle  names  the  Christian 
dead ;  "  them  that  sleep  in  Jesus."  And  you  remem 
ber  the  words  of  One  dearer  and  better  by  far;  "Our 
friend  Lazarus  sleepeth."  And  that  Blessed  One 
liked  the  word ;  he  used  it  more  than  once  or  twice ; 
"  She  is  not  dead,"  —  not  dead,  as  you  mean  by  the 
word,  —  "not  dead,  but  sleepeth."  Thus  kindly  and 
hopefully  does  that  kindest  and  most  hopeful  voice 
that  ever  stirred  the  atmosphere  of  this  world,  speak 
of  our  last  change.  And  oh,  how  the  very  nature  of 
4 


74  THE  GIFT  OF  SLEEP. 

death  is  changed  when  we  thus  think  of  it !  Not  the 
gloomy  visitor,  coming  so  unwelcome  ;  but  the  kindly 
gift  of  our  kind  Saviour,  gently  soothing  us  to  rest. 
When  all  is  said,  our  hearts  will  never  be  quite  free 
from  troubles,  fears,  anxieties,  forebodings,  here  ;  our 
feeble  faith,  and  our  many  sins,  clouding  God's  face, 
will  make  sure  of  that  ;  but  in  that  last  repose  we  shall, 
if  we  be  Christ's  people,  sleep  into  forgetfulness  of  all 
these.  We  never  shall  know  a  real,  sound,  untroubled 
sleep  in  this  world,  till  that ;  till  the  weary  head  is  laid 
upon  the  bosom  of  its  God  !  "  After  life's  fitful  fever 
he  sleeps  well ;"  how  literally,  how  gloriously  true, 
the  great  poet's  words  are  of  the  true  believer  !  Let  us 
bless  God  for  the  pleasant  thought  of  death  which  is 
given  us  by  this  gracious  text ;  we  need  it  all.  Gently 
as  a  mother  soothes  her  weary  infant,  the  kind  Saviour 
calms  away  all  our  cares,  all  our  fears  and  forebodings, 
in  that  perfect  rest.  We  call  to  our  remembrance 
the  lowliness  of  death  ;  we  stand  by  the  last  bed  ;  we 
see  the  weakness  of  mortality ;  we  mark  the  sad  signs 
of  dissolution  ;  and  who  that  has  ever  seen  them  but 
knows  how  sad  they  are  to  see  ;  but  what  a  change 
comes  over  all  that,  over  the  parting  breath,  over  the 
still  face  when  the  last  pain  is  over,  when  we  think 
it  is  but  that  God  has  "  given  his  beloved  sleep  ;"  and 
gently  soothed  the  unquiet  heart  to  the  dreamless 
rest  of  a  child  !  He  giveth  it ;  it  is  not  as  if  it  were  sent 
by  even  the  sublimest  messenger  ;  he  comes  himself; 
he  stands  by  his  departing  brother ;  it  is  he  him- 


THE  GIFT  OF  SLEEP.  75 

self  that  composes  the  weary  heart,  and  closes  the 
glazing  eyes.  Not  the  fatal  disease ;  not  the  days  and 
nights  of  weakness  and  suffering ;  not  those  long  years, 
perhaps,  which  have  silvered  the  head  and  worn  out 
the  machinery  of  mortal  life ;  look  beyond  these,  my 
brethren  ;  there  is  a  Higher  Hand  here.  "  Surely 
God  giveth  his  beloved  sleep." 

Yes,  to  his  beloved.  To  those  washed  in  Christ's 
blood,  and  sanctified  by  the  Holy  Spirit.  We  pray 
earnestly,  this  day,  that  all  of  us,  that  every  one  of  us 
who  are  within  these  walls,  may  be  so !  We  pray 
earnestly  that  we  all  may  be  led  and  enabled  un- 
feignedly  to  love  and  trust  him  as  we  see  him  in 
Christ ;  and  so  that  we  may  be  loved  by  him ;  by 
him  who  first  loved  us,  —  who  sought  us  in  the  wilder 
ness  when  we  had  wandered  away  and  were  lost,  and 
brought  the  wanderer  home  to  his  fold.  And  then, 
passing  from  this  life,  —  closing  our  eyes  upon  this 
world  of  trouble,  we  shall  rest  in  our  Blessed  Saviour ; 
we  shall  sleep  in  Jesus ;  we  shall  win  the  peace  of 
God  !  And  in  that  rest,  which  remaineth  for  all  his 
people,  we  shall  be  far  away  from  all  weariness,  all 
anxiety,  all  care,  all  sorrow.  And  while  the  soul  shall 
pass  to  God,  to  enter  on  the  rest  of  glory,  the  mortal 
body  has  its  rest  no  less,  sleeping  peacefully  till  the 
resurrection  day.  And  when  the  green  grass  of 
another  June  waves  over  us  ;  when  the  soft  summer 
wind  of  another  June  sighs  through  the  green  leaves ; 


76  THE  GIFT  OF  SLEEP. 

s 

when  the  sunshine  of  some  more  genial  Longest  Day 
shall  brighten  cheerfully  the  stone  which  may  bear  oar 
name  and  yours  ;  what  better  can  we  wish,  than  that  if 
we  leave  behind  us  those  who  may  sometimes  visit  the 
quiet  spot,  they  may  be  able  to  say,  humbly  and  hope 
fully,  Surely  here,  at  last ;  and  surely  there,  in  a  better 
place  ;  the  weary  heart  and  hand  are  still ;  yea,  surely 
God  "  hath  given  his  beloved,  sleep !  " 

•  j  *  t    *     '-•*•'•;• 

June  22, 1862. 


V. 


JABEZ :  HIS  LIFE  AND  HIS  PRAYER. 

"And  Jabez  was  more  honorable  than  his  brethren:  and  his 
mother  called  his  name  Jabez,  saying,  Because  I  bare  him 
with  sorrow.  And  Jabez  called  on  the  God  of  Israel,  say 
ing,  Oh  that  thou  wouldest  bless  me  indeed,  and  enlarge 
my  coast,  and  that  thine  hand  might  be  with  me,  and  that 
thou  wouldest  keep  me  from  evil,  that  it  may  not  grieve 
me!  And  God  granted  him  that  which  he  requested." — 
1  CHRON.  iv.  9,  10. 

HERE  was  a  Hebrew  mother,  to  whom 
a  child  was  born  in  a  season  of  special 
sadness  and  sorrow.  We  do  not  know 
what  was  her  name ;  and  we  do  not 
know  the  place  or  the  time  in  which  she  lived  ;  save 
that  the  time  was  many  hundred  years  ago,  and  that 
the  place  was  somewhere  in  the  promised  land  of 
Canaan.  We  do  not  know  what  was  the  cause  of  the 
special  sorrow  which  was  in  that  poor  mother's  heart 
when  her  child  was  sent  to  her ;  though  we  may  per 
haps  suppose,  from  what  we  are  told  as  to  the  mother 
being  the  only  one  to  decide  what  should  be  her  boy's 
name,  that  her  husband  was  dead ;  and  so  that  the 
little  one,  half-orphaned  from  his  birth,  could  never  be 
met  by  a  father's  welcome,  nor  tended  by  a  father's 


78  JABEZ. 

care.  The  sorrow  of  that  Hebrew  mother  is  all  over 
now  ;  and  indeed  we  have  reason  to  think  that  it  was 
turned  into  gladness,  if  she  was  spared  in  this  world, 
before  many  years  passed  on.  But  at  the  time,  it  had 
quite  crushed  her  down ;  it  had  so  overwhelmed  her, 
that  she  seemed  for  the  time  to  have  lost  even  the 
power  of  hoping  for  better  days.  It  seems  as  if  she 
had  thought  that  no  good  nor  happiness  could  ever  come 
of  that  little  child  that  was  as  the  memorial  of  so  sad 
a  season ;  and  so  she  gave  him  a  name  that  told  of 
her  present  grief  and  her  fears  for  the  future.  His 
mother  called  him  Jabez  ;  that  is,  Sorrowful.  And 
he  went  through  life  bearing  that  name ;  and  his 
memory  has  come  down  to  us  through  all  these  cen 
turies,  linked  with  that  name  ;  Jabez,  Sorrowful. 

It  is  not  much  we  know  of  Jabez ;  we  have  his 
entire  biography  in  these  two  verses  which  you  have 
read.  But  I  think,  my  friend,  that  in  this  recorded 
history  of  that  man,  there  is  suggested  to  us  something 
of  as  solemn  warning,  and  of  as  blessed  consolation, 
as  you  will  find  within  the  range  of  God's  holy  book. 
We  know  nothing  of  his  childhood  or  his  youth  ;  noth 
ing  of  the  first  steps  by  which  he  showed  how  little 
his  name  befitted  him  ;  nothing  of  the  pride  and  de 
light,  mingled  with  self-accusing  for  her  lack  of  faith 
in  ajkind  God,  which  would  spring  up  in  the  mother's 
heart,  if  she  was  spared  to  see  what  her  son  became 
at  last.  We  are  only  told  that  Jabez,  Sorrowful, 
grew  up  to  be  a  man ;  and  rose  to  honor,  —  to  special 


JABEZ.  79 

and  supereminent  honor.  And  we  have  preserved  a 
prayer  which  Jabez  offered,  and  which  God  granted 
him,  which  shows  us  that  Jahez  was  as  good  and  wise 
and  energetic  and  devout  as  he  was  honored  and  re 
nowned.  That  prayer  we  shall  think  of  hereafter;  it 
might  be  a  pattern  for  ours  ;  and  every  petition  in 
it  may  serve  to  remind  us  of  great  religious  truths, 
which  we  ought  never  to  forget.  But  meanwhile,  let 
us  fix  on  this ;  the  preeminent  honor  to  which  he  rose, 
who  came  into  this  world  at  so  gloomy  a  season,  and 
who  bore  a  name  expressive  of  so  gloomy  foreboding 
for  the  days  to  come.  "  Jabez,"  we  are  told,  "  was 
more  honorable  than  his  brethren."  You  have  noth 
ing  told  you  of  the  other  members  of  that  family,  who 
perhaps  came  in  happier  days,  and  who  perhaps 
received  more  hopeful  names.  We  may  well  believe, 
from  the  way  in  which  the  story  is  told,  that  they 
were  good  and  worthy  too ;  but  still,  in  fame,  in  holi 
ness,  in  wisdom,  in  goodness,  it  was  Jabez  who  was 
always  first.  And  how  strange  a  contrast  it  must 
have  been,  between  the  sorrowful  name,  and  the 
honored  and  happy  man  who  bore  it ;  how  strange 
a  comment  that  life  of  honor  and  usefulness  must 
have  seemed,  upon  the  mother's  faithless  forebodings, 
and  her  needless  fears  !  Yes,  it  must  have  been 
curious  to  hear  that  name  that  sounded  so  sadly, 
mentioned  by  all  men  with  such  pleasant  looks, 
and  linked  with  so  many  deeds  of  kindness  and  wis 
dom  and  true  heroism.  For  God,  we  are  told,  granted 


80  JABEZ. 

him  the  things  he  asked  in  that  most  comprehensive 
prayer ;  and  oh,  how  good  and  wise  and  brave  a  man 
he  must  have  been,  to  whom  that  prayer  and  all  it 
asked  was  granted  !  And  we  say  it  must  have  sounded 
strange  to  hear  it  asked,  Who  was  it  that  did  that  kind 
and  noble  deed  ?  and  to  hear  it  answered,  Oh,  it  was 
Jabez  !  Who  was  it  that  went  out  so  valiantly  against 
the  enemies  of  his  God,  and  "  enlarged  his  coast,"  his 
portion  of  the  promised  land,  by  those  rich  fields  and 
woods  ?  Oh,  it  was  Jabez  !  Who  was  it  that  com 
forted  that  despairing  heart,  —  who  cheered  that  house 
of  sorrow,  —  who  guided  that  poor  wanderer  back  ? 
Still,  it  was  he  whose  name  promised  such  different 
things  ;  still,  it  was  Jabez  !  Yes,  it  was  Sorrowful  who 
carried  joy  to  many  a  desolate  home  ;  it  was  Sorrow 
ful  who  made  the  dim  eye  grow  bright  again  with 
hope  ;  it  was  Sorrowful  whose  name  was  on  the  lips 
of  multitudes  of  men,  as  their  very  ideal  of  all  that 
was  pure  and  good  and  true  and  happy.  He  rose 
above  his  fellow-men.  He  was  "  more  honorable  than 
his  brethren  ; "  and  the  words  seem  to  imply  that  they, 
too,  were  honorable,  —  were  good  men,  and  happy 
men  ;  but  oh  !  there  was  none  like  Jabez  !  None 
like  Sorrowful  to  gladden  his  mother's  heart ;  none 
like  Sorrowful  for  worldly  success,  and  for  spiritual 
wealth,  wisdom,  and  happiness. 

My  friend,  let  us  fix  on  this  point  in  the  history  of 
Jabez  to  think  of  first ;  and  tell  me,  is  the  lesson  of 
all  this  far  to  seek  ?'  You  see,  it  was  to  her  best  and 


JABEZ.  81 

worthiest  son  that  the  mother  of  Jabez  gave  the  name, 
that  implied  how  little  hope  of  future  happiness  with 
him  or  through  him  remained  in  her  weary,  despairing 
heart.  We  can  think  of  a  contrasted  picture  ;  you 
remember  the  proud  and  hopeful  name  which  the 
mother  of  our  race  gave  to  her  first-born  son ;  you 
know  how  much  of  confident  hope  was  embodied  in 
the  name  of  Cain.  Possession,  she  called  him,  —  a 
great  thing  gained  from  God,  —  who  was  yet  so  sorely 
to  wring  her  heart.  For  even  thus  vain  are  human 
anticipations,  whether  of  good  or  ill ;  the  first  mur 
derer  welcomed  with  the  hopeful  name  of  Cain ;  while 
this  wise  and  good  and  happy  man  was  to  bear  the 
desponding  name  of  Jabez.  But  without  dwelling 
upon  the  vanity  of  all  human  calculations,  —  of  all 
human  hopes  and  fears, —  let  us  now  remember  how 
often  we  all  call  by  hard  names,  dispensations  of  God's 
providence  which  in  reality  are  to  prove  great  bless 
ings.  Probably  in  many  cases  those  events  in  our 
history,  those  dealings  of  God  with  us,  which  we 
should  call  sorrowful  at  the  time,  stand  us  in  more  real 
stead,  and  do  us  more  real  good,  than  the  brightest 
and  happiest  that  ever  come  in  our  way.  Even  here, 
and  now,  we  can  understand,  that  that  earthly  trial  or 
loss  is  not  rightly  called  Jabez,  Sorrowful,  which 
works  our  spiritual  good  ;  which  leads  us  with  sim 
pler  and  humbler  faith  to  that  blessed  Saviour  who  is 
our  only  satisfying  portion ;  and  which  weans  our 

heart  somewhat  from  those  things  of  time  and  sense 

4=* 


82  JABEZ. 

to  which  it  so  naturally  cleaves.  And  do  you  not  all 
know,  how  sometimes  we  can  afterwards  see,  that 
even  looking  no  farther  than  this  world,  it  was  good 
for  us  that  we  were  afflicted  ;  —  good  for  us  that  we 
were  disappointed,  that  we  were  tried,  that  we  were 
bereaved?  That  turning  you  wished  to  take  in  life, 
you  can  now  see  was  the  wrong  one  ;  though  it  was  a 
sad  trial  at  the  time  when  God  hedged  up  your  way, 
and  bade  you  walk  along  a  track  so  different  from 
that  which  you  would  have  chosen  for  yourself. 
Yes,  even  worldly  success  and  advantage  have  come, 
because  of  dispensations  which  were  disappointments 
and  sorrows  at  the  time  they  happened  ;  and  who 
does  not  know  what  precious  spiritual  blessing  has 
often  come  out  of  dealings  which  when  they  came 
were  Jabez ;  who  does  not  know  what  blessed  graces, 
—  what  purity,  heavenly-mindedness,  sympathy,  kind 
liness,  faith,  and  hope,  —  have  beamed  out,  in  modest 
loveliness,  in  the  soul  which  has  come  through  the 
sore  discipline  of  sanctified  sorrow,  of  disappointment 
rightly  met  and  rightly  used  ?  If  we  be  truly  united 
to  Christ,  we  may  be  sure  of  this,  that  nothing  can  be 
fall  us,  which  may  not  be  turned  to  good,  by  God's 
sanctifying  Spirit.  Sickness,  care  even,  bereave 
ment  ;  all  may  be  like  Jabez ;  dark  and  unpromising 
at  the  beginning,  but  brightened  into  glory  and  beauty 
in  their  result ;  and  the  believer,  as  he  looks  back  on 
his  past  history,  may  be  constrained  to  say,  —  God 
has  been  very  good  to  me ;  he  has  sent  me  many 


JABEZ.  83 

blessings ;  but  oh,  never  the  blessing  that  was  so  good 
and  precious,  as  when  he  sent  me  that  trial  which  I 
felt  so  crushing  ;  —  as  when  he  blighted  the  hopes  so 
fondly  cherished,  or  sent  the  bereavement  which  almost 
broke  the  rebellious  heart ! 

And  now,  my  friend,  as  we  go  on  to  consider  the 
prayer  which  Jabez  offered,  and  which  God  granted 
him  ;  let  us  take  along  with  us,  to  the  consideration 
of  the  petition  that  stands  first  in  it,  the  remembrance 
of  these  things  which  have  been  said,  as  to  our  little 
power  to  discern  what  is  a  blessing  and  what  is  not ; 
as  to  the  tendency  in  human  beings  to  call  that  Cain 
which  ought  to  be  called  Jabez ;  and  that  Jabez  which 
ought  to  be  called  Cain.  You  see  the  all-compre 
hending  petition  with  which  the  prayer  of  Jabez  sets 
out.  He  "  called  upon  the  God  of  Israel,  saying,  Oh 
that  thou  wouldst  bless  me  indeed  !  "  Yes,  Bless  me 
INDEED  !  It  was  because  Jabez  knew  that  he  could 
never  certainly  tell  what  was  truly  blessing,  and  what 
seemed  blessing  and  was  not ;  that  he  devolved  upon 
God  himself  the  charge  and  the  responsibility  of 
deciding  what  things  were  to  come  to  him.  What  a 
wise,  and  what  a  safe  prayer !  "  That  thou  wouldst 
bless  me  indeed ! "  Send  me  that  which  Thou 
knowest  is  blessing,  though  it  may  not  seem  blessing 
to  me ;  and  deny  me  that  which  Thou  knowest  is  not 
blessing,  however  ready  I,  in  my  ignorance,  may  be 
to  think  it  so !  That  is  the  spirit  of  the  prayer.  It 


84  JABEZ. 

was  for  the  All-wise  himself  to  decide  what  was  the 
exact  discipline  which  Jabez  needed  at  the  time ;  it 
might  be  a  painful  discipline,  it  might  be  a  happy- 
one  ;  but  whatever  it  might  be,  Jabez  knew  that  the 
thing  he  needed  was  the  true  blessing;  and  all  he 
asked  from  God  was,  that,  pleasant  or  painful,  God 
would  send  him  that !  Yes,  my  friend ;  put  that 
prayer  together  with  what  we  are  taught  by  the  entire 
history  of  Jabez ;  and  see  what  a  lesson  it  teaches  us 
as  to  how  we  ought  to  pray.  When  we  are  praying 
for  temporal  blessings,  we  ought  never  to  pray  for 
them  absolutely  ;  we  ought  always  to  pray  for  them,  if 
they  be  truly  good  for  us  ;  if  not,  God  in  answering 
our  prayer  would  not  be  blessing  us  indeed.  And 
even  as  regards  spiritual  blessings,  though  we  may- 
pray  for  them  with  more  confidence  and  less  reserva 
tion  ;  —  though  we  are  quite  sure  that  it  must  be  truly 
good  for  us  to  have  our  sins  pardoned  through  Christ, 
and  our  souls  sanctified  by  the  Holy  Spirit ;  and 
though  thus  wre  are  sure  that  God  in  giving  us  pardon 
and  holiness  would  be  blessing  us  indeed  ;  —  still,  even 
as  regards  spiritual  blessings,  we  do  not  know  what  is 
the  exact  dealing  that  may  be  most  expedient  for  us 
at  the  time  ;  we  cannot  be  sure  that  in  asking  spiritual 
peace,  joy,  hope,  or  strength,  we  are  asking  the  thing 
which  would  suit  our  present  need  the  best.  Perhaps 
humiliation  may  be  the  thing  we  need  just  then  ;  per 
haps  the  best  thing  for  us  would  be  to  have  our  over- 
confidence  rebuked,  —  to  be  brought  back  to  a  deeper 


JABEZ.  85 

sense  of  our  own  weakness,  and  a  simpler  leaning 
upon  our  kind  Redeemer's  strength  and  grace.  You 
know,  generally,  the  direction  in  which  to  steer  ;  but 
you  cannot  say  what  little  movement  of  the  helm  may 
be  expedient  from  time  to  time,  to  suit  each  pass 
ing  flaw  of  wind,  or  each  crossing  wave.  And  it  is 
just  because  we  do  not  know  these  things,  that  it  is 
so  wise  to  leave  the  decision  of  the  precise  thing  to 
be  sent  us,  as  Jabez  did,  to  God  ;  and  to  pray,  with 
him,  that  God  would  bless  us  indeed.  Let  him  deny 
us  that  which  is  not  blessing  indeed,  however  like 
blessing  it  may  seem  ;  and  let  him  send  us  that  which 
is  blessing  indeed,  though  we  might  write  against  it, 
Jabez  !  Ah,  my  brother,  you  dare  not  pray,  without 
a  reservation  if  God  sees  it  fit,  that  you  may  gain  the 
worldly  end  on  which  you  have  set  your  heart ;  you 
dare  not  pray  absolutely  that  you  may  live  a  long  or 
a  peaceful  life  ;  you  dare  not  pray,  without  a  condi 
tion,  by  the  dying  bed  of  your  dearest,  that  they  may 
be  spared  to  you  longer  ;  you  must  always  add,  God's 
will  be  done,  if  God  sees  it  good  for  you  and  them  ; 
but  you  can  never  go  wrong,  if  you  do  like  Jabez  ; 
if  you  go  humbly  and  hopefully  in  Christ's  blessed 
name ;  and  call  on  the  God  and  Father  of  our 
Blessed  Saviour,  saying,  Oh  that  thou  wouldst  bless 
me  indeed ! 

But  let  us  go  on  with  the  wise  and  good  man's 
prayer.  The  next  two  petitions  in  it  let  us  take  to 
gether.  "  Oh  that  thou  wouldst  enlarge  my  coast ; 


86  JABEZ. 

and  that  thine  hand  might  be  with  me  !  "  These  two 
requests  must  stand  together,  as  we  shall  see.  No 
doubt  the  first  of  the  two  refers  to  this :  that  Jabez 
was  an  Israelite  who  had  yet  to  conquer  from  his  en 
emies  some  portion  of  the  inheritance  allotted  to  him 
in  the  land  of  promise.  There  were  fair  tracts  round 
him,  appointed  to  him  by  God;  and  he  wished  to  win 
these  from  God's  enemies ;  and  accordingly  he  prays 
that  God  would  give  them  to  him ;  he  prays,  "  That 
thou  wouldst  enlarge  my  coast !  "  And  it  was  right, 
of  course,  to  pray  for  this  ;  but  it  was  not  enough 
merely  to  pray.  It  would  not  do,  that  Jabez  should 
slothfully  sit  down,  content  to  have  merely  asked  God 
to  give  the  inheritance  he  wished.  You  see  from  his 
prayer  that  he  is  going  out  to  do  what  in  him  lies  to 
accomplish  the  thing  for  which  he  prays.  You  see  he 
asks  that  God's  "  hand  might  be  with  him,"  as  he  goes 
forth  to  do  battle  with  the  idolatrous  race  which  mean 
while  possesses  the  soil  which  is  by  right  his  own.  In 
short,  the  wise  man,  in  the  exercise  of  a  manly  com 
mon  sense,  asks  God  to  help  him,  because  he  is  going 
to  try  to  help  himself. 

There  is  a  great  and  sound  principle  implied  here  ; 
a  great  lesson  for  all  of  us.  It  is  the  duty  of  combin 
ing  effort  with  prayer.  When  we,  my  friend,  are  de 
sirous  to  compass  any  new  attainment ;  —  when  we 
wish  to  enlarge  our  coast,  as  it  were,  by  taking  in 
greater  fields  of  faith,  of  holiness,  of  patience,  of  hu 
mility,  of  all  Christian  grace,  —  in  regard  to  all  of 


JABEZ.  87 

which  we  may  well  take  up  Joshua's  words,  that 
"  there  remaineth  yet  very  much  land  to  be  pos 
sessed,"  —  let  us  do  like  Jabez.  It  is  not  enough 
that  we  pray  to  God  to  give  us  more  grace ;  we  must 
labor  to  get  more  grace.  We  must  diligently  use 
the  means  that  foster  the  growth  of  grace  in  us.  We 
must  cultivate  Christian  grace  as  we  cultivate  bodily 
strength  and  skill,  —  by  exercise;  all  the  while  re 
membering  that  without  God's  help  and  Spirit  we  can 
do  nothing  ;  working,  in  short,  like  Jabez,  as  if  we 
could  do  all,  and  praying  as  if  we  could  do  nothing. 
We  may  well  and  rightly  pray  for  increase  of  spiritual 
comforts  :  for  greater  joy  in  communion  seasons,  —  for 
greater  heart  and  earnestness  in  prayer,  —  for  more 
of  Christ's  love  and  life  in  our  daily  work  and  war 
fare,  —  for  greater  and  happier  elevation  above  worldly 
cares ;  but  while  for  these  tilings  we  pray,  like  Jabez, 
for  these  things  let  us  also  labor  and  strive,  like  him. 

We  may  safely  say,  that  if  Jabez  had  merely 
prayed  that  God  would  enlarge  his  coast,  and  then 
remained  idle  at  home,  making  no  exertion  for  him 
self,  his  portion  would  not  have  been  enlarged.  God 
would  have  regarded  such  a  prayer  as  a  mere  mock 
ery.  And  on  the  other  hand,  if  Jabez  had  gone  forth 
against  his  enemies  in  his  own  unaided  strength,  he 
would  likely  enough  have  failed  too.  The  wisdom  of 
Jabez  appeared  in  this :  that  he  put  prayer  and  effort 
together.  You  know  how  a  wiser  and  greater  than 
Jabez  had  done  the  like  ;  how  our  Saviour  bade  us  at 


88  JABEZ. 

once  "  Watch  and  pray."  Now  is  it  not  a  curious 
thing,  that  when  God's  Word  and  our  own  common 
sense  tell  us  that  these  two  things  ought  always  to  go 
together,  and  are  (so  to  speak)  the  closest  of  allies,  — 
we  constantly  find  people  talking  as  if  they  were 
things  opposed  to  each  other,  —  and  as  if  by  holding 
to  the  one,  you  sacrificed  the  other?  But  you  just 
see  here  the  narrowness  and  one-sidedness  of  man's 
view,  as  compared  with  the  largeness  and  comprehen 
siveness  of  God's  view.  Jabez,  you  remember,  prayed 
that  God  would  enlarge  his  coast ;  and  even  as  he 
prayed,  he  went  forth  to  enlarge  his  coast  for  himself. 
Jabez  was  wise  and  right.  But  if  Jabez  had  been 
like  some  people  nowadays,  he  would  have  prayed 
that  God  would  enlarge  his  coast,  and  then  sat  at 
home  and  done  nothing ;  and  finally  wondered  why 
his  coast  was  not  enlarged.  And  if  Jabez  had  been 
like  other  people  nowadays,  he  would  have  gone  out 
to  enlarge  his  coast  without  troubling  himself  to  pray 
at  all.  You  know  how  many  among  us  take  these 
one-sided  views ;  and  apparently  cannot  look  at  both 
sides  of  a  truth  together  ;  or  see  that  prayers  and 
pains  must  go  together  ;  and  that  it  is  foolish  to  cry 
up  either  at  the  expense  of  the  other.  Thus,  when 
pestilence  threatens  the  land,  you  will  find  one  set 
proposing  to  have  a  fast-day,  and  pray  to  God  to 
avert  the  pestilence.  And  you  will  find  another  set 
proposing  to  flush  sewers,  and  cleanse  and  ventilate 
close  and  filthy  dwellings.  And,  strange  to  say,  in- 


JABEZ.  89 

stead  of  seeing  that  both  these  things  ought  to  be 
done  ;  that  you  ought  to  drain  and  cleanse  with  all 
your  might,  and  at  the  same  time  to  pray  with  all 
your  heart ;  you  will  find  the  advocates  of  the  fast- 
day,  and  the  advocates  of  the  cleansing,  abusing  each 
other  like  bitter  foes  ;  as  if  the  plan  of  the  one  set 
excluded  the  plan  of  the  other.  Why,  of  course,  both 
should  be  done.  "Watchfulness  and  prayer  must  go 
together,  alike  in  things  temporal  and  things  spiritual. 
And  it  is  foolish  to  raise  a  question  which  is  the  more 
essential,  when  both  are  essential.  It  would  be  abun 
dantly  absurd  to  get  up  a  furious  controversy  whether 
food  or  drink  were  the  more  necessary  to  the  life  of 
man.  Both  are  necessary.  And  Jabez,  wise  and 
good  man,  knew  it.  And  so,  while  he  prayed  that 
God  "  would  enlarge  his  coast,"  he  buckled  on  his 
harness  and  went  down  to  the  battle.  Do  you  the 
like,  my  friend.  Pray  earnestly  for  more  grace  ;  and 
work  heartily  to  get  it. 

And  so  we  come  to  the  last  petition  in  this  prayer ; 
a  petition  comprehensive  and  wise  as  the  first.  The 
first  petition,  you  remember,  was  for  true  blessing. 
The  last  is  for  deliverance  from  true  evil,  —  and  from 
the  evil  effects  and  influences  of  all  evil.  Here  are 
the  words  :  "  And  that  thou  wouldst  keep  me  from 
evil,  that  it  may  not  grieve  me."  You  know  that  this 
is  a  world  of  evil,  bodily  and  spiritual ;  a  world  of 
suffering  and  wrong  ;  and  through  these,  among  other 


90  JABEZ. 

means,  God  works  his  ends  on  our  souls.  It  is  not 
God's  purpose  that  we  should  never  see  or  come  in 
contact  with  evil  at  all.  And  you  see  the  moderation, 
the  acquiescence  in  God's  appointments,  the  sound 
sense,  which  characterize  Jabez's  prayer.  "  And  that 
thou  wouldst  keep  me  from  evil,  that  it  may  not 
grieve  me."  He  does  not  ask,  you  see,  that  evil  may 
never  come;  but  that  evil  may  not  be  suffered  to 
really  harm  when  it  comes.  And  so  his  prayer  is  in 
perfect  harmony  with  that  which  was  dictated  to  us 
by  Christ :  "  Deliver  us  from  evil ; "  for  Christ's 
words  do  not  lead  us  to  hope  that  evil  will  never 
come  ;  but  that  by  God's  grace  when  it  does  come,  we 
shall  be  saved  from  its  evil  tendencies  and  results. 
Jabez  did  not  ask,  and  we  would  not  ask,  that  evil 
should  never  befall  us  at  all ;  that  would  be  too  much; 
and  if  that  prayer  were  granted,  we  should  miss  some 
of  the  most  blessed  and  precious  influences  that  ever 
helped  to  make  the  believer  meet  for  the  better  land 
above.  Evil  coming,  and  trying  us,  may  do  us  great 
good  ;  we  should  not  thrive  without  it ;  some  of  the 
heavenliest  fruits  of  the  Spirit  would  never  grow  in 
us  if  we  never  knew  sorrow  ;  patience,  resignation, 
humility,  sympathy,  could  hardly  exist  in  the  soul  that 
never  knew  grief;  and  I  think,  my  friend,  that  we 
should  feel  almost  alarmed  if  we  were  never  visited 
with  trial ;  we  should  almost  feel  that  our  heavenly 
Father  was  not  treating  us  as  -his  children,  —  he  who 
disciplines  his  children  for  immortality  by  the  sad  ex- 


JABEZ.  91 

perience  of  sorrow  and  pain ;  we  should  feel  it  strange 
to  be  excluded  from  that  training,  so  salutary  though 
so  sad,  to  which  such  multitudes  of  believers  have 
been  witnesses,  —  and  which  is  embodied  in  that  an 
cient  declaration  of  St.  Paul  and  St.  Barnabas,  that 
"  we  must  through  much  tribulation  enter  into  the 
kingdom  of  God."  But  Jabez  prayed,  and  we  may 
pray,  that  evil  should  not  grieve  us.  We  may  pray 
that  evil  may  never  be  suffered  to  harden  us  ;  to  stir 
us  up  to  wrath  against  God ;  to  make  us  fretful,  rebel 
lious,  impatient ;  to  tempt  us  to  sin ;  in  short,  to  do  us 
harm  when  God  intends  it  always  to  do  us  good.  It 
was  for  this  that  Jabez  prayed. 

Oh,  my  brother,  we  know  that  evil  will  come  to  us ; 
it  has  come  already,  and  it  will  come  again.  There 
is  not  a  heart  —  not  even  the  youngest  —  that  has  not 
had  its  share  of  grief;  and  that  which  has  been  is  that 
which  shall  be.  But  if  evil  be  sanctified  to  us ;  if  it 
be  met  in  a  right  and  humble  spirit ;  then,  though  it 
may  come,  it  will  not  grieve ;  it  will  not  offend  us,  — 
it  will  not  prove  a  stumbling-block  in  our  heavenward 
way.  Nay  ;  it  will  further  us  with  a  continual  help  ! 
It  will  prove  a  blessing,  —  a  blessing  indeed.  It  will 
wean  us  from  earth ;  it  will  purge  away  our  dross  ;  it 
will  quicken  our  steps  towards  that  peaceful  home, 
where  dwell  such  multitudes  who  "came  out  of  great 
tribulation  ! "  Let  us  then  pray  like  Jabez.  Let  us 
prefer,  not  the  unreasonable  and  extravagant  request, 
that  evil  may  never  come ;  but  the  modest  and  Chris- 


92  JABEZ. 

tian  request,  that  when  evil  comes,  as  it  surely  will 
come,  still  that  it  may  never  grieve  ! 

And  such,  my  friend,  was  the  prayer  of  that  good 
man  whose  history  so  belied  his  name  ;  and  who, 
doubtless  for  our  comfort  arid  warning  among  other 
ends,  lived  and  died,  so  long  ago,  and  so  far  away. 
And  see  what  came  of  Jabez.  No  wonder  he  was 
so  honorable !  You  have  seen  what  the  things  were 
for  which  he  asked  ;  and  God's  word  tells  us,  closing 
the  history  of  Jabez,  "  And  God  granted  him  that 
which  he  requested."  God  gave  him  all  he  a<kecl ! 
Oh,  what  a  biography  for  any  man  !  See  what  is 
taught  us  in  the  assurance  that  God  granted  Jabez 
his  prayer.  It  tells  us  that  through  life,  God  blessed 
him  indeed ;  that  God  enlarged  his  coast ;  that  God's 
hand  was  with  him  ;  and  that  God  kepfr  him  from 
evil,  so  that  it  did  not  grieve  him.  Think  of  that,  my 
friend  !  Could  you  even  pray  for  anything  better  ? 
If  God  were  this  day  to  allow  you  to  sketch  out  for 
yourself  the  kind  of  life  which  you  would  wish  to 
lead,  so  long  as  you  are  spared  in  this  world,  —  could 
you  ask  for  more  than  that  God  would  grant  to  you 
what  he  granted  Jabez  !  Well,  now  for  a  comforting 
thought.  It  must  have  been  a  good  and  a  noble  life 
that  Jabez  lived  ;  and  perhaps  you  are  ready  to  think 
that  it  is  far  beyond  your  reach  ;  that  it  was  all  well 
in  those  distant  days  when  men  felt  God's  presence 
nearer  them  ;  but  that  only  a  specially-favored  one, 
here  and  there,  can  look  for  such  things  now.  But 


JABEZ.  93 

do  not  think  that.  It  does  not  at  all  follow,  from  what 
we  are  told  of  that  good  man's  honored  life,  that  it 
was  one  of  unmingled  brightness  ;  or  that  it  was  be 
yond  what  we  may  humbly  ask  through  Christ,  and 
humbly  hope.  God  "blessed  him  indeed;"  but  that 
which  is  a  blessing  indeed,  may  not  be  what  the 
worldly  man  would  think  a  blessing  at  all.  We  can 
not  be  sure,  even  of  the  man  whom  God  blessed  in 
deed,  that  his  life  was  all  sunshine.  Likely  enough,  he 
had  his  share  of  the  worries  of  life.  Likely  enough, 
he  had  now  and  then  a  great  trial.  Likely  enough, 
there  were  days  when  the  heart  of  Sorrowful  was 
sorrowful  enough ;  and  when  Jabez  mourned  beside 
the  tomb  where  those  he  loved  were  sleeping.  But 
still,  he  went  on  through  life  in  such  fashion  that  he 
drew  good  from  all  things  that  befell  him  ;  and  so, 
through  all,  God  kept  his  promise,  and  "  blessed  him 
indeed,"  —  for  all  that  came  was  truly  blessing.  And 
then,  though  his  "  coast  was  enlarged,"  perhaps  the 
portion  he  got,  after  all,  seemed  large  only  to  his 
moderate  desires  and  ideas  ;  perhaps  it  was  no  such 
very  great  tract  of  territory  after  all ;  and  likely 
enough,  his  neighbors  would  smile  at  Jabez  for  being  so 
well  pleased  with  it;  and  I  dare  say  the  ill-set  people 
among  them  would  try  to  put  him  out  of  conceit  with 
it, — just  as  ill-set  people  do  the  same  thing  now. 
And  then,  when  evil  befell  Jabez,  all  men  could  see 
the  outward  affliction,  but  none  could  see  what  was 
the  inward  result ;  all  men  could  see  that  evil  came, 


94  JABEZ. 

but  only  Jabez  knew  that  it  fell  where  it  could  not 
grieve.  And  so,  to  the  eyes  of  ordinary  onlookers, 
the  outward  lot  of  Jabez  may  not  have  seemed  so 
much  happier  than  the  lot  of  other  men.  Perhaps 
his  path  in  life  may,  to  outward  view,  have  appeared 
like  the  average  one  of  ordinary  believers.  His  lot 
was  not  beyond  our  reach  ;  nor  beyond  the  possibili 
ties  of  what  may  come  to  ourselves.  Perhaps  there 
are  people  in  every  Christian  congregation,  who  are 
very  like  what  Jabez  was.  People  who  are  more 
deserving  of  honor  than  most  of  their  brethren  of 
mankind,  though  they  may  not  get  it.  People  whom 
God  blesses  indeed,  though  they  have  their  many 
cares.  People  whose  coast  is  enlarged,  though  it  be 
in  fields  of  faith  and  holiness  and  peace,  which  are 
not  visible  to  the  passer-by.  People  to  whom  their 
share  of  evil  comes,  but  is  made  by  God's  Spirit  to 
conduce  to  their  eternal  welfare.  And  we  may  fitly 
ask  for  all  that ;  and  hope  for  all  that ;  through  our 
Redeemer,  and  for  his  sake. 

Let  us  humbly  pray,  then,  this  day,  to  the  God  of 
our  fathers,  through  that  Blessed  Redeemer  who  is 
our  Eld-er  Brother,  saying,  Oh  that  thou  wouldst  bless 
us  indeed,  and  enlarge  our  coast ;  and  that  thine 
hand  may  be  with  us ;  and  that  thou  wouldst  keep  us 
from  evil,  that  it  may  not  grieve  us  I 


VI. 
GAIN  IN  THE  SAVIOUR'S  LOSS. 

"  It  is  expedient  for  you  that  I  go  away."  —  ST.  JOHN  xvi.  7. 

HE  parting  of  friends,  we  all  know,  is  al 
ways  a  sad  thing,  even  if  it  be  for  not 
a  very  long  time,  and  to  not  a  very  great 
distance ;  for  it  never  can  be  quite  for 
got,  in  this  uncertain  life,  that  many  things  may  come 
to  prevent  a  meeting  again.  But  partings  sometimes 
are  among  the  very  saddest  things  that  ever  happen 
upon  the  face  of  this  sorrowful  world  ;  partings  of 
those  who  are  very  dear ;  partings  of  the  playmates 
of  childhood  ;  partings  of  those  who  hitherto  have 
kept  close  together  in  the  race  and  the  warfare  of 
life,  bearing  one  another's  burdens,  dividing  one  an 
other's  sorrows,  sharing  one  another's  joys,  but  who 
are  now  to  be  severed  by  long  months  and  years  of 
time,  by  long  leagues  of  land  and  sea.  I  have  seen 
an  emigrant  ship  depart  upon  its  long  voyage  ;  I  re 
member  the  bustle  and  hurry  which  attended  its 
departure  ;  the  crowded  deck,  thronged  with  old  and 
young ;  gray-haired  men  bidding  farewell  to  their 
native  land,  and  little  children  who  would  carry  but 


96  GAIN  IN  THE  SAVIOUR'S  LOSS. 

dim  remembrances  of  Britain  to  the  distant  Australian 
shore.  And  who  that  has  ever  witnessed  such  a 
scene  can  forget,  how,  when  the  white  canvas  was 
spread  at  last,  and  the  last  rope  cast  off,  the  outburst 
of  sobs  and  weeping  arose  as  the  great  ship  solemnly 
passed  away !  Doubtless  that  parting  was  to  many 
of  those  who  parted  then,  as  complete  as  that  which 
is  made  by  death. 

And  why  was  it  then,  that  those  who  felt  the  pang 
of  parting  so  much,  were  yet  content  to  part  ?  Why, 
but  because  they  felt  it  was  better  so.  The  emigrant 
felt  that  he  was  leaving  a  country  where  he  was  not 
needed,  a  country  which  would  not  yield  him  bread, 
for  another  where  there  were  work  and  bread  for  all. 
And  the  friends  who  remained  behind  knew  all  that 
too.  They  knew  that  however  keen  might  be  the 
anguish  of  that  day,  brighter  days  would  follow. 
They  knew  that  it  was  best  that  the  youthful  son 
should  carry  his  sturdy  arm  and  his  active  brain  to 
the  young,  fresh  world  across  the  Atlantic,  and  not 
remain  to  be  hampered  and  held  down  through  life 
in  the  over-crowd  and  over-competition  here.  "  It 
was  expedient"  for  all  parties,  "that  he  should  go 
away."  He  would  find  a  new  home,  far  away.  He 
would  form  new  ties  there.  He  might  find  there, 
perhaps,  a  path  to  fame  and  fortune.  He  would 
often  think,  indeed,  in  the  thoughtful  twilight,  of  the 
hills  of  his  native  land ;  and  sometimes,  perhaps, 
wonder  whether,  for  all  that  he  had  gained  by  leaving 


GAIN  IN  THE  SAVIOUR'S  LOSS.  97 

the  country  of  his  birth,  it  might  not  have  been  as 
well  had  he  saved  his  home-bred  virtues  in  his  fa 
ther's  lowly  lot,  and  laid  his  head  at  last  in  his  father's 
honored  grave. 

But  after  all,  my  friends,  I  do  not  doubt  that  you 
have  found  it  in  your  own  experience,  that  the  thing 
to  which  people  most  naturally  have  recourse  to  blunt, 
in  some  measure,  the  pang  of  parting,  is  some  such 
thought  as  is  suggested  in  the  text.  The  dying  wife 
tries  to  persuade  the  husband  she  is  leaving,  that  it  is 
far  better  as  it  is.  The  poor,  friendless  young  laborer, 
reckless  and  graceless  once,  but  reclaimed  by  a  kind 
ness  and  a  wisdom  that  were  half  angelic,  said,  as  he 
felt  life  ebbing  away,  and  thought  of  all  the  tempta 
tions  he  was  saved  from,  —  said  in  his  own  simple 
way  of  speaking,  that  "  perhaps  it  was  as  well  he 
should  go  home  pretty  soon."  And  just  with  that 
simple  and  natural  thought  did  the  Blessed  Redeemer 
seek  to  console  his  disciples  as  he  was  leaving  them 
behind.  He  is  addressing  them  in  those  memorable 
words,  in  that  last  and  most  beautiful  discourse,  which 
we  all  know  so  well.  It  is  the  night  on  which  he 
was  betrayed.  He  has  partaken  of  the  Jewish  Pass 
over  for  the  last  time,  and  he  has  instituted  that  better 
Christian  Passover  which  was  to  take  its  place ;  and 
now  more  plainly  than  ever  before,  he  begins  to  tell 
his  friends  of  his  speedy  removal  from  them.  And 
as  he  sees  the  shadow  fall  deep  upon  their  faces,  and 
deeper  upon  their  hearts,  at  the  thought,  he  hastens 
5 


98  GAIN  IN  THE  SAVIOUR'S  LOSS. 

to  comfort  them  as  a  parent  might  the  child  from 
whom  he  was  for  a  season  of  trial  and  training  to  be 
divided.  I  go,  it  is  as  if  he  said ;  and  it  is  better 
that  I  should ;  I  leave  you,  and  though  you  may  sor 
row  at  first,  you  will  gain  more  by  my  leaving  you 
than  you  could  have  gained  by  my  remaining  with 
you.  "  I  tell  you  the  truth ;  it  is  expedient  for  you 
that  I  go  away." 

Now,  we  all  know  it  perfectly  well,  that  such  words 
as  these  are  oftentimes  spoken,  and  spoken  with  a 
kindly  intention  too,  when  they  are  not  really  true. 
When  some  stroke  of  disappointment  has  fallen,  when 
some  cherished  hope  has  been  blighted,  we  are  anx 
ious  to  persuade  ourselves  that  it  is  better  as  it  is  ;  we 
say  so,  and  we  try  to  believe  it.  And  the  dying 
father,  who  is  leaving  his  little  ones  alone  in  this  cold 
world,  would  try  to  make  them  think  that  it  is  better 
he  should  go  in  God's  good  time,  although  his  anxious 
mind  and  his  feeble  heart  belie  the  words  he  utters. 
We  often  say,  and  we  often  hear  such  words  as  those 
of  the  text,  when  they  express  rather  what  is  wished 
than  what  is  felt  and  believed.  "  It  is  expedient  that 
we  should  part,"  we  say  ;  "  it  is  better  as  it  is  ;  "  when 
we  could  give  no  sufficient  reason  for  thinking  so  ; 
no  sufficient  reason,  that  is,  save  that  one  sheet-an 
chor  of  the  weary  and  disappointed  heart,  the  wise 
and  kind  decree  of  God.  God  orders  all  things  that 
happen,  we  know  ;  and  whatever  God  does  must  be 
right ;  and  so  we  may  safely  say  of  everything  that 


GAIN  IN  THE  SAVIOUR'S  LOSS.  99 

happens  that,  in  one  sense,  it  is  best  as  it  is.  But  it 
is  not  merely  in  this  general  view,  —  and  it  is  not 
merely  by  way  of  saying  a  kind  word  that  might  cheer 
up  somewhat  in  a  trying  hour,  that  Jesus  said  to  his 
disciples  ere  he  left  them,  "  It  is  expedient  for  you 
that  I  should  go  away."  There  must  be  good  reason 
for  his  saying  these  words,  or  he  would  never  have 
said  them.  And  the  reason,  too,  you  see,  must  be  one 
which  related  rather  to  his  disciples  than  to  himself. 
He  was  not  thinking  of  that  bright  and  happy  home 
that  was  waiting  for  him,  and  of  that  glory  into  which 
he  could  enter  only  by  bidding  his  earthly  followers 
for  the  while  farewell.  He  was  not  thinking  of  all 
the  advantages  which  might  thus  follow  for  himself. 
"  It  is  expedient  for  you,"  he  says,  "  that  I  should  go 
away."  No  doubt,  to  look  at  it  selfishly,  it  was  bet 
ter  for  Christ  himself  to  go  away.  It  would  be  a 
change  for  the  better,  indeed,  when  the  homeless  wan 
derer,  rejected  and  despised,  who  had  not  where  to 
lay  his  head,  should  stand  on  the  right  hand  of  God, 
the  centre  of  heaven's  glory,  the  object  of  heaven's 
praises  ;  but  Jesus  was  not  thinking  of  himself,  or  of 
what  would  be  most  agreeable  to  himself.  He  was 
thinking  of  his  disciples,  and  he  declared  that  it  was 
expedient  for  them  that  he  should  go  away.  He  was 
indeed  their  best  and  dearest  friend  ;  they  never  could 
find  such  another ;  and  it  must  be  some  very  strong 
reason  indeed  to  make  them  believe  that  they  would 
be  as  well  or  better  without  him.  There  must  be 


100  GAIN  IN  THE  SAVIOUR'S  LOSS. 

much  indeed  to  gain  by  his  going,  to  outweigh  what 
would  be  gained  by  his  staying.  And  the  Saviour 
himself  fixes  upon  a  single  reason.  His  departure, 
lie  said,  was  the  condition  of  another's  coming,  who 
would  more  than  make  up  for  his  loss.  Precious 
indeed,  then,  must  that  other  be !  Think  of  it,  my 
friends  ;  try  to  comprehend  it ;  he  was  to  be  a  better 
companion  in  that  present  season,  a  better  friend  than 
Christ !  It  was  not  merely  that  the  new  friend  would 
make  up  for  the  loss  of  the  old  one  ;  situated  as  they 
then  were,  the  disciples  would  gain  by  the  exchange. 
"  It  is  expedient  for  you,"  said  the  Redeemer,  "  that 
I  go  away;"  that  is,  You  will  gain  by  my  going, — 
it  is  not  merely  as  well,  it  is  better  for  you  that  I 
should  go.  u  For  if  I  go  not  away,  the  Comforter 
will  not  come  unto  you  ;  but  if  I  depart,  I  will  send 
him  unto  you." 

We  must  all  feel  that  although  it  is  our  duty  and 
our  privilege  to  "  love  the  Lord  our  God  with  all  our 
heart,  and  strength,  and  mind ; "  and  although  that 
pious  affection  ought  to  extend  to  each  of  three  Per 
sons  in  the  Trinity:  the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy 
Spirit;  still  there  is  one  of  these  Divine  Persons  whom 
we  cannot  choose  but  single  out  for  special  love.  It  is 
our  Blessed  Saviour  who  has  done  the  most  for  us ; 
it  is  only  he  who  has  suffered  for  us  ;  it  is  the  re 
membrance  of  him  that  must  always  most  warm  our 
heart ;  and  it  is  his  constant  presence  which  will 
make  the  Christian's  heaven.  And  if  the  question 


GAIN  IN  THE  SAVIOUR'S  LOSS.  101 

were  absolutely,  whether  we  loved  more  the  Saviour 
or  the  Sanctifier,  and  so  which  of  the  two  we  should 
absolutely  desire  to  have  with  us ;  I  believe  that 
every  Christian  would  feel  his  whole  being  answer, 
"  Christ  all  in  all,"  "  Jesus  the  chiefest  among  ten 
thousand,  and  altogether  lovely."  And  we  should 
hardly  be  able  to  persuade  ourselves  that  even  the 
coming  of  the  Blessed  Comforter  could  make  up  for 
the  absence  of  the  Blessed  Redeemer.  Absolutely, 
this  is  so  ;  but  you  see  Christ's  words  are  not  uttered 
absolutely,  but  in  a  qualified  sense.  All  that  the 
Saviour  declared  in  the  text  was,  that  for  believers  so 
situated  as  the  disciples  he  was  addressing,  it  was  ex 
pedient  and  advantageous  that  the  Comforter  should 
be  present  with  them,  even  at  the  price  of  his  own 
departure.  For  you,  it  is  as  if  he  said,  —  for  you  who 
have  to  live  in  a  world  of  work  and  warfare,  a  world 
of  sorrow  and  temptation,  a  world  which  is  not  the 
heaven  to  be  enjoyed,  but  the  trial  and  training  to  be 
endured,  —  for  you,  so  placed  and  so  exercised,  it  is 
expedient  that  I  should  go  away  ;  for  my  presence 
with  you  holds  away  from  you  one  whose  society  is, 
for  beings  placed  as  you  are,  even  more  important 
and  more  advantageous  than  my  own.  And  it  is  not 
straining  our  Lord's  words  beyond  their  natural  mean 
ing,  to  say  that  they  are  spoken  to  the  entire  Christian 
Church  on  earth ;  that  they  make  an  assertion  which 
holds  good  of  the  whole  multitude  of  true  believers  ; 
that  they  lay  down  the  great  principle,  that  for  men 


102  GAIN  IN  THE  SAVIOUR'S  LOSS. 

and  women  like  us,  with  our  work  to  do,  our  sorrows 
to  bear,  our  cares  to  bear  up  under,  our  sinfulness 
to  strive  against,  it  is  better,  so  long  as  we  remain 
in  this  world,  to  have  the  Holy  Spirit  of  God  con 
stantly  though  invisibly  present  with  us,  than  it  would 
be  to  have  Christ  himself,  in  visible  presence,  still 
remaining  here.  Oh  !  if  it  had  been  good  for  us, 
surely  he  would  never  have  left  us  !  If  it  would 
really  have  conduced  to  our  eternal  well-being,  then 
there  still  would  be  found  on  this  earth  a  place,  the 
centre  of  the  Christian  world,  towards  which,  from 
all  lands  and  climes,  the  streams  of  pilgrims  would 
converge  ;  and  there  we  should  even  yet  be  able  to 
behold  the  gracious  face,  and  to  hear  the  gentle 
voice,  and  to  look  on  the  beloved  form  of  him  who 
died  to  save  us  !  We  should  even  yet  be  able  to 
touch  the  hem  of  his  garment,  to  bring  our  troubles 
to  his  feet,  to  bring  our  children  to  his  arms  !  But 
that  is  not  to  be  ;  we  must  love  him,  while  we  see 
him  not ;  we  must  mourn  an  absent  Lord ;  we  must 
wait  till  the  fleshly  vesture  shall  fall  from  around 
our  spirits,  before  we  shall  see  him  as  he  is.  And 
yet  think  not  that  the  decree  is  made  in  severity ; 
do  not  imagine  that  it  is  merely  to  deprive  us  of  a 
privilege  that  we  should  dearly  prize  ;  it  is  for  our 
own  good  that  our  Redeemer  is  unseen  by  us  ;  it 
was  the  kindest  consideration  for  our  true  welfare 
that  dictated  the  law  that  looks  so  stern  ;  it  is  far 
better,  though  it  may  be  hard  to  think  so,  —  it  is 


GAIN  IX  THE  SAVIOUR'S  LOSS.  103 

far  better  as  it  is ;    "  it  was    expedient   for    us   that 
Christ  should  go  away  ! " 

Yes,  my  friends,  it  was  expedient  that  Christ  should 
go  away,  because  unless  he  went,  the  Comforter  would 
not  come  ;  and  to  the  Christian  Church,  cast  upon  a 
world  like  this,  the  invisible  Comforter  would  stand 
in  even  better  stead  than  the  visible  Redeemer.  But 
the  thought  naturally  suggests  itself,  Why  might  the 
Church  not  have  had  both  ?  Surely  it  would  have 
been  best  of  all  to  have  Jesus  still  with  us,  gracious  as 
of  old  ;  and  the  Blessed  Spirit  as  well.  Might  not  the 
Second  Person  in  the  Trinity  and  the  Third  have 
been  both  on  earth  together  ?  Now,  my  friends,  we 
must  just  take  Christ's  word  for  it,  that  this  cannot  be. 
We  cannot  tell  how  and  why  it  is  ;  but  for  some  good 
reason,  unknown  to  us,  we  cannot  have  both  together. 
In  this  world,  it  is  needful  that  we  should  do  with  one. 
The  Saviour's  words  are  perfectly  explicit :  "  If  I  go 
not  away,  the  Comforter  will  not  come  unto  you." 
And  so,  receiving  this  as  a  truth  which  cannot  be 
questioned,  let  us  consider  for  a  little  how  it  comes  to 
be,  that  it  is  better  for  the  Christian  Church  to  have 
the  Holy  Spirit,  than  even  to  have  the  Saviour  per 
sonally  present.  Can  it  be  made  out  that  it  was  bet 
ter  on  the  whole  to  submit  to  the  Saviour's  personal 
loss,  if  that  was  the  condition  upon  which  alone  the 
Comforter  could  come  ?  We  may  not  be  able  to  make 
out  all  the  reasons  which  were  present  to  the  Saviour's 
mind,  when  he  thus  exalted  the  Spirit's  society  above 


104  GAIN  IN  THE  SAVIOUR'S  LOSS. 

even  his  own.  Yet  it  would  be  pleasing  if  wre  could 
in  so  far  understand  the  matter ;  and  it  is  a  very  fit 
use  of  our  reason,  to  employ  it  in  seeking  to  discover 
grounds  for  that  which  we  receive  by  faith. 

It  is  but  the  merest  sketch  of  two  or  three  consid 
erations  which  it  is  possible  for  me  now  to  present  to 
you. 

For  one  thing,  then,  let  us  remember  that  the  choice 
lay  between  Christ  as  he  then  was,  a  person,  dwelling 
in  a  human  body  ;  and  a  Divine  Spirit,  capable  of 
being  universally  present  at  the  same  time.  Christ, 
dwelling  in  flesh,  could  be  only  in  one  place  at  a 
time  ;  while  the  Comforter,  unbound  by  fleshly  tram 
mels,  could  be  in  a  thousand  places,  working  on  a 
million  hearts,  all  at  once.  And  I  think  you  will  see, 
that  for  the  grand  end  of  carrying  on  the  government 
of  a  Church  that  is  to  overspread  the  wrorld,  and  to 
include  within  itself  men  of  every  country  and  every 
tongue,  it  was  better  to  have  one  Divine  Being,  equally 
present  everywhere,  working  with  equal  energy  every 
where  ;  than  even  to  have  Christ  himself  dwelling  in 
visible  form  in  some  favored  spot,  and  by  the  very 
fact  of  his  being  visible  there,  making  those  disciples 
in  distant  countries  who  saw  him  not,  feel  as  though 
they  were  so  far  overlooked,  —  as  though  they  were  in 
some  sense  placed  at  a  disadvantage.  Far  better, 
surely,  to  be  able  to  think,  as  we  can  gladly  think 
now,  that  there  is  no  disciple  who  is  far  away  from 
his  Saviour's  presence  ;  and  far  better,  surely,  to  be 


GAIN  IN  THE  SAVIOUR'S  LOSS.  105 

able  to  think,  as  we  can  think  now,  that  wherever  two 
or  three  are  assembled  in  Christ's  name,  he  is  there 
in  the  midst  of  them  ;  than  even  to  be  able  to  journey 
far  away,  till  we  reached  the  place  of  his  visible  pres 
ence  ;  and  there,  entering  some  noble  pile,  the  mother 
church  of  Christendom,  to  join  in  a  worship,  simple 
and  sublime,  wherein  the  visible  Christ  himself  took 
part.  No,  it  is  the  fancy  of  Papery,  but  it  is  not  the 
purpose  of  the  Redeemer,  to  have  one  fixed,  localized, 
visible  centre  of  the  Christian  Church.  It  is  better  to 
have  a  Divine  Agent,  everywhere  present,  everywhere 
exercising  an  equal  power,  than  to  have  a  living  Sov 
ereign,  who  by  the  very  fact  of  his  being  seen  at  one 
place,  clothed  in  a  human  body,  is  precluded  from 
exercising  an  equal  influence  anywhere  else.  But  as 
it  is,  the  Divine  presence  is  equally  diffused  over  the 
entire  Christian  world.  No  believer  can  fancy  that 
he  is  overlooked,  no  believer  can  feel  as  though  he 
were  kept  at  a  distance  ;  the  empire  of  Christ,  main 
tained  on  earth  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  is  able  to  afford 
equal  and  uniform  blessings  at  all  places  and  at  all 
times.  The  Holy  City  has  no  preference  above  any 
corner  of  God's  earth.  We  are  no  nearer  Christ  at 
Jerusalem  than  we  are  in  Galloway  or  at  Edinburgh. 
And  if  sacred  places  can  even  yet  warm  the  Chris 
tian's  heart ;  if  not  without  emotion  we  can  even  yet 
pace  the  narrow  bounds  of  Gethsemane,  or  climb  the 
slopes  of  Olivet,  or  muse  where  stood  the  accursed 
tree  ;  it  is  but  the  working  of  natural  associations  that 
5* 


106  GAIN  IN  THE  SAVIOUR'S  LOSS. 

awakens  the  feeling  ;  it  is  not  that  Christ  is  nearer  us 
there  than  here.  And  when  you  and  I,  my  friends, 
call  it  to  mind,  how  the  cares  and  duties  of  life  tie 
most  of  us  to  one  little  spot  of  this  world  ;  when  we 
think  how  vainly  most  of  us  might  wish  to  make  a 
weary  pilgrimage  of  thousands  of  miles,  even  though 
that  pilgrimage  should  bring  us  into  the  visible  pres 
ence  of  our  God  ;  shall  we  not  be  humbly  thankful 
that  now  we  have  but  to  enter  into  our  closet  and  shut 
the  door,  and  we  are  as  near  our  Saviour  as  wre  can 
be  anywhere  on  earth  ;  shall  we  not  be  thankful  for 
the  presence  here  of  a  Divine  Being,  Sanctifier  and 
Comforter,  who  can  make  our  very  soul  his  home ; 
and  shall  we  not,  as  we  think  of  all  he  can  do  in  all 
places  and  all  hearts  at  once,  and  remember  that  the 
price  paid  for  his  presence  was  the  loss  of  a  visible 
Saviour,  whose  visible  presence  would  have  blessed 
hundreds,  but  only  tantalized  hundreds  of  thousands, 
and  who  can  still  remain  with  us  although  unseen,  — 
shall  we  not,  as  we  reckon  the  gains  and  losses,  agree, 
after  all,  with  that  Saviour's  own  declaration,  that  "it 
was  expedient  for  us  that  he  should  go  away  "  ? 

So  much,  perhaps,  we  are  justified  in  saying,  before 
we  have  thought  at  all  of  the  special  nature  and  work 
of  the  Holy  Spirit.  Even  thinking  of  him  merely  as 
a  Divine  Being,  whom  Christ  had  deputed  to  fill  his 
place,  it  seems  as  if  his  power  of  universal,  though 
invisible  presence,  made  him  even  more  useful  to  the 


GAIN  IN  THE  SAVIOUR'S  LOSS.  107 

members  of  a  Church  scattered  over  all  the  world, 
than  a  bodily,  visible  Redeemer,  limited  by  time  and 
localized  in  space.  But  when  we  go  a  little  farther, 
and  think  what  are  the  peculiar  functions  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  —  what  kind  of  work  it  is  especially  his 
to  do,  —  we  shall  see,  I  think,  even  more  plainly, 
how  fit  it  was  that  so  long  as  the  Christian  Church 
is  militant  upon  earth,  he  should  take  the  place  of 
the  visible  Redeemer.  For  what  are  the  functions  of 
the  Holy  Spirit  ?  He  is  the  Regenerator ;  he  is  the 
Sanctificr  ;  he  is  the  Comforter  ;  he  is  the  Prompter 
and  Dictator  of  prayer.  It  is  not  for  us  to  say  how 
far  such  duties  as  these  might  be  performed  by  other 
Persons  of  the  Godhead;  these  are  things  into  which 
we  have  no  right  to  pry  ;  but  this  we  know,  that  it  has 
pleased  Divine  wisdom  to  allot  such  work  especially 
to  the  Blessed  Spirit;  and  such  work  will  be  done,  we 
dare  not  say  better,  but  certainly  more  naturally,  by 
him  than  by  any  other.  Each  Person  in  the  Trinity 
has  his  own  share  in  the  great  task  of  preparing  man 
for  heaven ;  and  a  certain  work  has  been  appointed 
to  the  Third  Person,  the  Holy  Spirit.  Now,  when  you 
think  of  the  several  things  which  it  is  the  Spirit's 
occupation  to  do,  do  you  not  see  that  this  world  is 
the  place  where  they  must  be  done  ?  Do  you  not 
see  that  the  Holy  Spirit's  work  lies  mainly  with 
a  suffering,  struggling,  sinful,  tempted,  imperfect 
Church  ?  Do  you  not  see,  in  short,  a  special  fitness, 
a  special  relation,  between  the  workings  of  the  Holy 


108  GAIN  IN  THE  SAVIOUR'S  LOSS. 

Spirit,  and  the  condition  of  Christian  people  upon 
earth,  till  the  day  of  judgment?  Yes,  placed  and 
tried  as  we  are,  it  is  just  the  Holy  Spirit  we  ne-ed  ; 
and  so  it  is  just  the  Holy  Spirit  that  we  get.  It  is  in 
this  world  that  his  gracious  work  is  to  be  done.  We 
shall  need  him  less,  with  reverence  be  it  said,  when 
we  shall  have  entered  upon  the  immediate  presence 
of  our  God.  For  are  we  dead  by  nature,  must  we  be 
quickened  into  newness  of  life,  must  we  be  regener 
ated  ?  Then  it  is  by  the  working  of  the  Blessed 
Spirit  that  we  are  born  again.  And  once  new  crea 
tures  in  Christ  Jesus,  must  we  be  sanctified  day  by 
day  ?  Must  we  grow  in  grace,  and  become  meet  for 
heave"n  ?  Then  it  is  by  the  working  of  the  Blessed 
Spirit  that  we  are  sanctified.  Christ's  people  are 
"chosen  to  salvation  through  sanctification  of  the 
Spirit  and  belief  of  the  truth."  And  are  we  pressed 
with  cares  and  sorrows  ?  Has  it  grown  into  a  trite 
commonplace,  a  tale  a  hundred  times  repeated,  that 
this  is  a  world  of  sorrow,  that  this  is  a  world  of 
care  ?  Then  the  Blessed  Spirit  is  the  Comforter,  who 
can  make  the  Saviour's  people  bear  up  patiently,  and 
sometimes  even  cheerfully,  amid  all  earthly  troubles ; 
and  who,  not  forgetting  his  other  great  work  of 
sanctifying,  can  turn  all  earthly  care  into  heavenly 
discipline  ;  can  make  the  path  of  tribulation  serve  to 
quicken  the  steps,  and  to  purify  the  spirit,  for  the 
upper  kingdom  of  God !  And  is  this  a  world  wherein 
the  believer  must  live  and  breathe  by  prayer  ?  Is  this 


GAIN  IN  THE  SAVIOUR'S  LOSS.  '109 

a  world  wherein  prayer  is  the  channel  through  which 
we  can  draw  all  needful  blessing,  day  by  day  :  daily 
bread,  daily  strength,  daily  guidance,  daily  pardon, 
daily  comfort  and  hope?  Then  the  Holy  Spirit, 
Spirit  of  all  grace  and  all  supplication,  is  by  us,  to 
put  upon  our  poor  dumb  lips  the  words  of  acceptable 
prayer,  and  to  breathe  into  our  cold  hearts  that  fer 
vency  of  devotion  which  shall  make  prayer  effectual 
and  prevailing,  which  shall  make  it  at  once  profitable 
and  delightful  to  pour  out  our  hearts  in  prayer  at  our 
heavenly  Father's  knee.  Oh  for  that  blessed  Spirit ! 
Oh  that  his  gracious,  soft,  beautiful  influences,  coming 
in  showers  of  blessing,  were  poured  out  in  tenfold 
measure,  refreshing,  reviving,  comforting,  sanctifying, 
upon  this  dry  and  dusty  world,  upon  this  valley  of  dry 
bones,  crumbling  and  cold  !  Oh  that  his  gracious  in 
fluences,  sanctifying,  comforting,  were  poured  out  in 
tenfold  measure,  upon  our  own  sorrowful  and  sinful 
hearts ! 

How  beautifully,  how  admirably,  surely  you  will  say, 
the  powers  and  influences  of  that  Blessed  Spirit,  are 
adapted  to  all  the  exigencies  of  the  collective  Church 
and  of  the  individual  believer !  There  is  not  a  point 
in  the  soul's  better  life,  there  is  not  an  emergency  in 
the  Christian's  earthly  pilgrimage,  at  which  the  Blessed 
Spirit  does  not  come  in,  the  very  thing  we  need  !  He 
begins,  and  he  ends,  all  that  the  Christian  counts  of 
life.  His  gracious  influences,  indeed,  were  purchased 
at  a  dear  price.  He  cost  the  early  Church  the  pres- 


110  GAIN  IN  THE  SAVIOUR'S  LOSS. 

ence  of  its  Head  and  Lord.  He  would  not  come,  — 
perhaps  (who  knows  ?)  he  could  not,  —  till  the  last 
words  of  blessing  had  parted  from  the  ascending 
Saviour's  lips,  —  till  Jesus,  seen  as  he  is,  had  quitted 
this  world  until  that  day  when  he  shall  come  again. 
But  yet,  so  precious  was  his  presence  with  us,  that 
the  Redeemer's  own  words  assure  us  that  it  was  well 
worth  all  it  cost ;  and  in  the  prospect  of  his  com 
ing,  and  as  the  condition  of  his  coming,  our  Blessed 
Saviour  hesitates  not  to  say  of  himself,  "  It  is  expe 
dient  for  you  that  I  go  away ! " 

And  so,  for  reasons  such  as  these,  it  is  better  as  it 
is.  It  is  better  to  have  the  Holy  Spirit,  the  Regener 
ator,  Sanctifier,  Comforter,  Prompter  of  prayer,  every 
where  diffused  over  the  Christian  world,  working  on 
every  Christian  heart,  than  even  to  have  the  Saviour 
himself  consecrating  some  spot  on  earth  by  his  visible 
presence.  It  is  better  as  it  is,  for  this  our  life  of  dis 
cipline  for  immortality ;  and  when  our  life  of  holiness 
and  happiness  begins,  then  we  shall  see  him  as  he  is, 
and  grow  like  him  through  that  beatific  vision.  We 
have  not  on  earth,  as  yet,  a  fitting  home  for  him,  nor 
fitting  friends  for  him  ;  we  are  not  yet  pure  enough 
in  heart  to  behold  with  these  eyes  our  God.  His 
tempered  glory  beams  upon  us,  his  strong  hand 
touches  us  gently,  through  the  intervention  of  an 
unseen  Spirit,  who  is  truly  and  actually  God.  But 
still,  if  you  are  Christ's  true  disciples,  —  and  to  Christ's 


GAIN   IX   THE  SAVIOUR'S   LOSS.  Ill 

true  disciples  this  sermon  is  preached,  —  the  Saviour, 
although  "  gone  away,"  is  present  in  your  hearts  and 
in  your  dwellings  still.  He  left  us  in  visible  form  ;  it 
was  "  expedient  for  us  "  that  he  should ;  but  even  as 
he  went,  he  said  the  hopeful  words,  "  Lo,  I  am  with 
you  always,  even  to  the  end  of  the  world  !  "  And 
present  in  his  spirit,  in  his  house,  in  his  ordinances, 
in  his  word,  surely  Jesus  is  with  us  still.  Softened  to 
our  poor  comprehension,  mellowed  like  the  setting 
sun  to  our  weak  sight,  we  have  our  Saviour  with  us 
yet,  and  we  will  never  let  him  go  !  He  is  far  away, 
yet  he  is  very  near ;  he  "  went  away,"  yet  he  never 
left  us ;  we  cannot  see  him,  yet  he  watches  us  night 
and  day  ;  and  the  hour  is  on  the  wing,  when  he  shall 
return  in  glory ;  when  the  Comforter's  mission  will  be 
fulfilled ;  and  the  Blessed  Redeemer  and  his  true 
disciples  shall  meet  face  to  face,  —  meet,  and  never 
part! 


VII. 
SPIRITUAL  INSENSIBILITY. 

"  Who,  being  past  feeling  — .  "  —  EPH.  iv.  19. 

N  the  wilds  of  North  America,  amid  vast 
prairies  and  trackless  woods,  there  lived, 
through  many  centuries,  the  race  of  the 
Red  Men.  Encroached  upon  from  all 
sides,  hemmed  in  by  settlers  from  Europe,  and  de 
frauded  of  their  ancient  territories,  that  race  of  men 
has  almost  disappeared  from  the  face  of  the  earth. 
They  were  a  race  of  hunters  ;  unsettled,  cruel,  and 
deceitful ;  yet  not  without  many  features  of  character 
which  gave  them  a  peculiar  interest.  Their  hospital 
ity  was  inviolate ;  and  the  stern  gravity  of  their  man 
ners  deeply  impressed  the  stranger.  But  there  was 
one  thing  about  them,  in  particular,  which  they  cul 
tivated  with  especial  care,  and  which  was  matter  of 
especial  pride  :  this  was  their  power  of  absolutely  re 
pressing  the  slightest  outward  exhibition  of  feeling. 
If  they  were  glad,  they  never  looked  it ;  if  the  most 
awful  misfortune  befell  them,  it  wrought  not  the  least 
change  on  their  iron  features  and  their  impassive  de 
meanor.  From  his  tree-rocked  cradle  to  his  bier,  the 


SPIRITUAL  INSENSIBILITY.  113 

Indian  brave  was  trained  to  bear  all  the  extremes  of 
good  and  evil,  without  making  any  sign  of  what  he 
felt.  If  he  met  a  friend,  the  dearest  friend  on  earth  ; 
or  if  he  was  being  tortured  to  death  at  the  fiery  stake  ; 
he  preserved  the  same  fixed,  immovable  aspect.  And 
you  could  not  please  him  better  than  by  believing  that 
he  was  as  completely  beyond  all  feeling  as  he  seemed; 
for  he  set  himself  out  as  "  the  stoic  of  the  woods,"  as 
"  a  man  without  a  tear." 

And,  indeed,  it  is  curious  to  think  how  much,  in 
this  respect,  the  extreme  of  civilization  and  the  ex 
treme  of  barbarism  approach  one  another.  Greek 
philosophy  centuries  ago,  and  modern  refinement  in 
its  last  polish  of  manner,  alike  recognize  the  mute 
Oneida's  principle,  that  there  is  something  manly, 
something  fine,  in  the  repression  of  human  feeling. 
A  Red  Indian,  a  Grecian  philosopher,  an  English 
gentleman,  would  all  be  pretty  equally  ashamed  to 
have  been  seen  to  weep.  Each  would  try  to  convey 
by  his  entire  deportment  the  impression  that  he  cared 
very  little  for  anything.  And  there  is  no  doubt  at 
all,  that  it  might  be  unworthy  of  the  grown-up  man, 
who  has  to  battle  with  the  world  for  his  family's  sup 
port,  were  his  feelings  as  easily  moved  as  in  his  child 
ish  days,  or  did  his  tears  flow  as  readily  as  then. 
Even  the  gentleness  and  freshness  of  womanly  feeling 
would  hardly  suit  the  rude  wear  of  manhood's  busy 
life.  And  it  must  be  admitted,  that  the  highest  pitch 
of  heroism  to  which  man  has  ever  attained,  as  well  as 


114  SPIRITUAL  INSENSIBILITY. 

the  vilest  degree  of  guilt  to  which  man  has  ever  sunk, 
has  been  attained,  has  been  sunk  to,  by  the  putting 
down  of  natural  feeling.  The  soldier  volunteering  for 
the  forlorn  hope,  must  do  that  as  truly  as  the  desperate 
pirate  who  spreads  his  black  flag  to  the  winds.  And 
yet  St.  Paul  was  right  when  he  wrote  these  words  of 
my  text.  When  he  was  speaking  of  people  who  had 
become  hopelessly  and  fearfully  bad,  who  had  broken 
through  every  restraint,  who  had  flung  off  every  obli 
gation  ;  he  was  quite  right  to  mention,  as  something 
symptomatic  of  their  case,  that  they  were  "  past  feel 
ing."  They  were  thoroughly  hardened.  You  could 
make  no  impression  upon  them.  They  were  beyond 
all  sense  of  the  foulness  of  the  sin  in  which  they  were 
sunk  ;  and  it  was  vain  to  think  to  make  them  feel  it. 
And  that  was  the  most  hopeless  thing  about  them. 
Say  what  you  might,  they  did  not  care.  You  could 
not  move  them  ;  you  could  not  touch  them ;  you 
could  make  nothing  of  them ;  —  for  they  were  "  past 
feeling." 

We  all  understand,  then,  that  there  is  a  certain  pitch 
of  wickedness  at  which  moral  insensibility  comes  on  ; 
and  when  that  comes  on,  the  case  becomes  almost 
hopeless.  There  is  little  prospect  of  repentance  or 
reformation  then.  No  matter  how  bad  any  poor  sinner 
has  been,  there  is  still  some  hope  so  long  as  you  can 
get  him  to  feel.  If  when  you  speak  kindly  to  the  poor 
outcast,  and  point  out  to  him  the  shame  and  sinfulness 
of  his  life,  and  remind  him  of  his  better  days  and  of 


SPIRITUAL   INSENSIBILITY.  115 

the  home  of  his  youth,  and  ask  him  what  his  father 
and  mother  would  have  felt,  if  they  had  lived  to  see 
him  what  he  is,  and  tell  him  how  Christ  is  ready  to 
receive  back  even  the  chief  of  repenting  sinners  ;  if 
the  poor  outcast  is  touched  by  such  thoughts  as  these, 
then  there  is  still  hope  for  him  ;  there  may  be  joy  in 
the  presence  of  the  angels  of  God  over  that  poor  out 
cast  yet.  But  if  when  the  Christian  minister  presses 
such  thoughts  upon  some  unhappy  being  whom  he  has 
found  in  the  course  of  his  duty,  they  are  all  listened 
to  with  a  reckless  unconcern,  with  a  total  apathy ;  if 
the  poor  wretch  shows  that  but  for  some  miraculous 
interposition  of  God's  irresistible  grace,  you  might  as 
well  speak  to  a  stone  ;  if  no  tear  flows,  if  no  relenting 
is  stirred  at  the  heart ;  if  your  reception  be  just  one 
of  perfect  indifference  ;  then  the  Christian  minister's 
heart  sinks  within  him.  Then  he  feels  that  he  can  do 
nothing,  —  nothing,  at  least,  but  pray  for  an  influence 
that  is  beyond  all  human  power.  Then,  indeed,  it 
seems  as  if  the  poor  sinner  is  past  hope,  —  because  he 
is  "  past  feeling  !  " 

Yes,  brethren,  St.  Paul  was  right.  It  is  one  of  the 
last  and  worst  symptoms  of  the  soul's  condition,  when 
feeling  is  gone.  You  know  that  it  is  sometimes  so 
also  with  the  body.  Sometimes  when  disease  has  run 
a  certain  length,  there  is  nothing  which  looks  so  ill  as 
an  entire  cessation  of  pain.  For  that  may  indicate 
that  mortification  has  begun,  and  so  that  all  hope  is  at 
an  end.  So  with  spiritual  insensibility  ;  for  that  is 


116  SPIRITUAL  INSENSIBILITY. 

arrived  at  by  most  men  only  after  a  long  continuance 
in  iniquity ;  and  that  is  an  indication  which  gives  sad 
ground  for  fearing  that  the  Holy  Spirit,  without  whom 
we  can  never  feel  anything  as  we  ought,  has  ceased  to 
strive  with  that  hardened  soul,  —  has  left  that  obdu 
rate  heart  alone.  0  brethren,  let  us  have  sinfulness, 
however  great,  so  there  be  with  it  the  sensibility  of 
life  ;  rather  than  outward  decency  and  propriety  of 
conduct,  and  with  them  the  insensibility  of  death. 
There  is  more  hope  of  repentance,  more  hope  of  final 
salvation,  for  the  very  murderer,  shuddering  in  the 
condemned  cell,  and  wakened  up  to  an  awful,  over 
whelming  sense  of  the  black  transgressions  of  his  life, 
than  for  the  decent  respectable  man,  who,  without  ever 
heartily  believing  in  Jesus,  has,  year  by  year,  never 
missed  a  Sunday  from  church,  nor  a  sacrament  from 
the  communion-table ;  and  who  has  thus  grown  so 
thoroughly  familiar  with  religious  truths,  that  the 
mention  of  them  makes  no  more  impression  upon 
him  than  a  wave  makes  upon  a  rock.  The  guilty 
criminal  is  now,  at  least,  brought  to  a  state  of  intense 
fear,  of  intense  alarm  and  concern  about  his  soul ;  and 
God  only  knows  what  good  may  come  out  of  that. 
But,  oh  !  what  movement  can  come  of  pure  stagna 
tion  !  What  can  you  look  for  but  doing  nothing,  from 
the  man  who  has  arrived  at  feeling  nothing  ! 

But  while  thus  we  remember  that  to  have  become 
"  past  feeling  "  is,  morally  and  spiritually,  a  very  hope 
less  thing ;  and,  very  generally,  a  thing  which  is  not 


SPIRITUAL  INSENSIBILITY.  117 

reached  but  slowly  and  gradually ;  let  us  not,  there 
fore,  imagine  that  our  text  describes  a  state  of  matters 
which  can  only  be  found  among  the  most  degraded 
and  abandoned  of  the  race.  I  believe,  on  the  con 
trary,  that  our  text  names  a  spiritual  condition  which 
is  too  common  a  condition  ;  a  condition  to  which  we 
have  all  a  strong  tendency  ;  a  spiritual  condition  which 
we  must  all  daily  be  striving  and  praying  against. 
We  all  run  a  great  risk  of  becoming  so  familiar  with 
spiritual  truths,  as  that  we  shall  understand  them  and 
believe  them  without  feeling  them ;  without  really 
feeling  what  their  meaning  is,  and  without  that  degree 
of  emotion  being  excited  by  them  that  ought  to  be 
excited.  I  am  sure  that  even  the  very  best  Christians 
among  us  must  often  be  surprised  to  find  how  coolly, 
how  indifferently,  they  can  listen  to  truths  so  awful, 
that,  when  we  think  of  it,  it  seems  almost  impossible 
that  men  should  ever  remember  them  but  with  the 
hushed  heart  and  the  silent  earnest  prayer.  That 
God  is  ever  by  us,  and  ever  watching  us  ;  that  death 
and  the  grave  are  before  us  all,  we  cannot  say  how 
near ;  that  beyond  the  grave  there  awaits  us  a  great 
eternity,  in  which  there  are  but  the  two  alternatives, 
heaven  and  perdition ;  that  Jesus  died  to  save  us  from 
hell,  to  raise  us  to  heaven  ;  and  that  we  are  invited 
and  entreated  to  believe  on  him,  and  live  forever ; 
that  the  few  years  of  our  earthly  pilgrimage  are  to 
decide  the  momentous  question  of  our  eternal  state  ;  — 
0  brethren,  do  you  not  wonder  to  find  that  you  can 


118  SPIRITUAL  INSENSIBILITY. 

think  of  all  these  things,  and  believe  them  all,  and  yet 
feel  so  little  ?  And  if  it  be  true,  that  even  the  con 
verted  man,  in  whom  what  we  may  call  the  organs  of 
spiritual  perception  have  been  quickened  from  their 
native  paralysis,  and  the  capacity  of  spiritual  emotion 
in  some  good  measure  developed,  by  the  working  of 
Divine  grace,  has  to  wonder  and  lament  that  he  be 
lieves  so  much,  but  feels  it  so  little ;  we  need  hardly 
be  surprised  to  find  that  in  the  case  of  most  uncon 
verted  men,  living  in  a  Christian  country,  and  probably 
frequenting  a  Christian  church,  there  is  a  perfect 
numbness  of  soul ;  as  regards  spiritual  things,  they  are, 
in  the  full  sense  of  the  words,  "  past  feeling  !  "  They 
know  already  all  that  the  Christian  minister  can  say 
to  them  ;  they  believe  it  all ;  it  has  been  presented  to 
them  a  hundred  times  in  all  conceivable  forms,  and 
pressed  upon  them  by  all  conceivable  arguments  and 
considerations  ;  but  it  produces  no  impression  ;  you 
might  as  well  speak  to  the  wild  winds  ;  they  never  feel 
what  you  say  to  be  real,  —  real  in  the  sense  in  which 
trees  and  fields,  home  and  children,  friends  and  money, 
are  real.  You  may  remember  what  a  faithful  and 
zealous  minister  tells  us,  of  a  conversation  which  he  had 
with  an  aged  man  in  his  parish,  a  respectable,  decent 
man,  who  bore  an  unstained  character,  who  never  was 
absent  from  church  or  sacrament.  That  zealous  min 
ister,  in  his  parochial  visitation,  went  to  that  respect 
able  man's  house,  and  there,  addressing  him  and  his 
family,  he  told  simply  of  the  salvation  that  is  in  Christ, 


SPIRITUAL  INSENSIBILITY.  119 

and  urged  those  who  listened  to  a  hearty  acceptance 
of  it.  The  minister  finished  what  he  had  to  say, 
and  when  he  left  the  house  his  friend  accompanied 
him  ;  and  when  they  were  alone  together,  said  some 
thing  like  this  :  *'  Spend  your  time  and  strength  upon 
the  young  ;  labor  to  bring  them  to  Jesus ;  it  is  too  late 
for  such  as  ine.  I  know,"  he  said,  'k  that  I  have  never 
been  a  Christian.  I  fully  believe  that  when  I  die  I 
shall  go  down  to  perdition  ;  but  somehow  I  do  not  care. 
I  know  perfectly  all  you  can  say ;  but  I  feel  it  no  more 
than  a  stone."  And  that  man,  we  are  told,  died  with 
the  like  words  on  his  lips.  He  had  lost  the  spring 
time  of  his  life  ;  he  had  missed  the  tide  in  his  affairs 
that  might  have  borne  him  to  heaven  ;  his  heart  had, 
under  the  deadening  influence  of  a  present  world, 
grown  hard  and  unimpressionable  ;  and  saving  only 
God's  irresistible  Spirit,  there  was  no  use  in  any  one 
speaking  of  religious  things  to  such  as  him.  Oh,  past 
feeling  !  Past  feeling  !  Not  past  it  in  the  mere  sen 
timental  sense  in  which  the  poet  tells  us  that  "it  is  the 
one  great  woe  of  life  to  feel  all  feeling  die  ; "  not  past 
it  in  that  mere  sentimental  sense  in  which  youth  has  a 
freshness  of  feeling  and  heart  which  tames  down,  which 
passes  away  with  advancing  years  ;  not  past  it  merely 
in  that  sense  in  which  as  we  grow  older  we  grow  less 
susceptible,  less  capable  of  all  emotion  ;  not  past  it 
merely  in  the  sense,  that  when  the  hair  grows  gray, 
and  the  pulse  turns  slower,  the  tear  flows  less  readily 
avt  the  gospel  story,  and  even  at  the  table  of  coinmu- 


120  SPIRITUAL  INSENSIBILITY. 

nion  we  miss  somewhat  of  the  warmth  of  heart  and 
the  vividness  of  thought  which  we  felt  in  earlier  days  ; 
but  "  past  feeling"  in  that  saddest  sense,  that  religious 
words  fall  with  little  meaning  on  the  ear,  and  with  no 
impression  at  all  upon  the  heart ;  "  past  feeling "  in 
that  saddest  sense,  that  now  to  all  spiritual  truths,  to 
all  expostulation  and  all  entreaty,  to  God's  abounding 
mercy,  to  Christ's  blessed  sacrifice,  to  the  hopes  of 
heaven  and  the  fears  of  perdition,  the  understanding 
may  indeed  yield  a  torpid,  listless  assent ;  but  the  heart 
is  stone  ! 

Now,  my  friends,  there  is  no  doubt  at  all,  that  in 
the  nature  of  things,  by  the  very  make  of  our  being, 
we  have  to  lament  that  we  are  far  less  impressed  and 
affected  by  spiritual  truths  than  we  ought  to  be.  We 
know  them  ;  we  understand  them  ;  we  believe  them  ; 
but  somehow  we  do  not  realize  them  ;  we  do  not,  in 
short,  feel  them.  And  till  we  have  in  some  degree 
"passed  from  death  to  life,"  —  from  death,  with  its 
torpor  and  insensibility,  to  life,  with  its  keen  senses 
and  its  quick  perception,  —  we  never  can  rightly  feel 
spiritual  things  in  their  overwhelming  reality  and  im 
portance.  And  perhaps,  indeed,  so  long  as  our  souls 
are  clogged  by  these  mortal  bodies,  the  true  force  and 
meaning  of  those  grand  realities  which  are  discerned 
by  faith  and  not  by  sight  will  never  be  felt  by  us  as 
they  ought.  Oh,  there  would  be  no  wicked  men,  if 
people  realized  what  is  meant  by  heaven  and  hell ; 
there  would  be  no  worldly  men,  if  people  realized 


SPIRITUAL  INSENSIBILITY.  121 

what  is  meant  by  time  and  eternity ;  there  would  be 
no  heart  cold  to  the  gracious  invitations  of  the  Blessed 
Redeemer,  if  people  realized  to  their  hearts  how  kind 
and  merciful  and  forbearing  and  gracious  HE  was 
and  is  ;  and  realized  to  their  hearts  that  in  that  gentle, 
sympathizing,  loving  Being,  we  see  the  visible  image 
of  the  invisible  God  !  But  true  as  all  this  is  ;  true  as 
it  is  that  at  no  period  in  our  life,  not  even  when  the 
heart  is  softest  and  the  head  least  sophisticated,  do 
we  naturally  feel  spiritual  things  as  they  ought  to  be 
felt ;-  still  it  is  true  no  less,  that  as  we  grow  hardened 
through  the  wear  of  life,  we  must,  apart  from  Divine 
grace,  grow  less  and  less  impressible  by  them.  Even 
in  earliest  youth  we  do  not  feel  divine  things  as  we 
ought ;  but  in  the  common  course  of  things,  as  we  grow 
older,  we  shall  always  feel  them  less  ;  because  as  we 
grow  older,  all  feeling  becomes  less  easily  awakened, 
religious  feeling  and  natural  feeling  alike.  We  grow 
so  familiar  with  divine  things,  that  they  cease  to 
strike  us  as  they  might  strike  a  stranger.  We  know 
so  thoroughly  well  all  that  the  preacher  can  say  to  us, 
that  his  words  fall  upon  our  ear  with  the  worn-out 
interest  of  a  twenty-times  repeated  tale.  What  can 
we  hear  when  we  go  to  church  that  we  do  not  know 
already  ?  What  argument  can  at  this  time  of  day  be 
addressed  to  us,  with  which  we  have  not  been  many 
times  already  plied  ?  Oh  for  a  return  of  the  days 
when  we  first  believed  in  Christ !  Oh  for  a  revival 
of  the  warm,  fresh  feelings  of  communion  Sabbaths 


122  SPIRITUAL  INSENSIBILITY. 

past  and  gone  !  Oh  for  a  return  of  those  early  days 
when  the  tears  flowed  at  gospel  story ;  when,  with  the 
warm,  touched  heart,  we  traced  the  life  of  the  Man  of 
Sorrows  from  the  manger  to  the  grave,  and  listened 
to  his  comfortable  words,  and  watched  his  deeds  of 
mercy,  and  felt  our  souls  burn  within  us  at  the  recol 
lection  that  all  he  did  and  all  he  suffered  was  done 
and  suffered  for  us,  and  for  such  as  we  are  !  Oh  for 
a  revival  of  those  better  days,  before  years  and  care 
and  hard  experience  had  withered  up  the  heart,  and 
frozen  the  founts  of  feeling ! 

But,  my  brethren,  while  we  never  forget  that  in  the 
case  of  even  a  true  Christian,  it  is  a  sad  thing  when, 
as  years  go  on,  his  religion  appears  to  be  always  grow 
ing  more  a  thing  of  the  head,  and  less  a  thing  of  the 
heart ;  and  while  we  are  well  assured  that  no  one  will 
lament  that  more  than  the  true  Christian  himself;  let 
us  remember  that  such  a  train  of  thought  must  not  be 
pushed  too  far.  It  would  be  very  wrong  if  the  aged 
believer  were  to  fancy  that  because  his  religious  feel 
ings  are  growing  less  keen,  less  easily  excited,  than  in 
former  years,  he  must  therefore  conclude  that  he  is 
backsliding  from  his  God,  and  leaving  his  first  love. 
He  takes  his  place,  shall  we  say,  at  the  table  of  high 
communion  ;  he  receives  into  his  hands  those  simple 
elements  which  mean  so  much  ;  but  he  grieves  as  he 
misses  something  of  that  warm  feeling  which  he  re 
members  used  to  come  over  him  in  days  gone  by ; 
and  perhaps  he  makes  himself  unhappy  by  trying  to 


SPIRITUAL  INSENSIBILITY.  123 

awaken  feeling  which  no  longer  comes  spontaneous, 
and  which,  if  it  do  not  come  spontaneous,  will  not 
come  at  all.  He  is  causing  for  himself  needless 
sorrow  when  he  so  acts  and  thinks.  It  is  just  that 
he  has  grown  older,  and  so  less  capable  of  all  emotion; 
but  his  choice  of  Christ  may  be  just  as  firm,  and  his 
religious  convictions  as  deep  as  ever.  Religion  in  the 
soul  has  to  do  with  both  the  head  and  the  heart;  it 
would  be  quite  as  false  to  represent  it  as  entirely  a 
thing  of  sentiment,  as  to  make  it  entirely  a  matter  of 
principle  and  resolution.  We  know  that  Christianity 
is  such  in  its  essential  nature  as  to  suit  all  sorts  of 
men,  those  in  whom  the  intellectual  faculties  pre 
dominate,  no  less  than  those  in  whom  the  emotional. 
True  and  vital  religion  is  a  plant  which  will  grow  in 
either  soil ;  either  soil  may  be  good,  and  we  cannot 
say  which  is  best ;  and  it  may  be  that  the  calm, 
thoughtful  mood,  in  which  the  old  man  covers  his 
face,  as  he  bends  over  the  white  cloth,  befits  as  well 
our  calm  feast  of  remembrance,  as  do  the  young  be 
liever's  tears.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  some  good  divines 
go  wrong,  when  they  lead  communicants  at  a  sacra 
ment  time  to  fancy  that  feeling  is  the  test  and  touch 
stone  of  worthy  receiving ;  and  that  according  as  that 
is  present  or  absent,  the  partaker  of  that  consecrated 
bread  and  wine  has  made  a  worthy  or  an  unworthy 
approach  to  the  Lord's  table.  No  doubt,  warm  emo 
tion  at  such  a  time  is  much  to  be  desired ;  no  doubt 
we  cannot  but  have  a  certain  disappointment  if  it 


124  SPIRITUAL  INSENSIBILITY. 

be  lacking ;  but  after  all,  it  is  of  the  nature  of  a 
luxury  rather  than  of  a  necessary  ;  and  if  it  should 
please  God  to  deny  it  to  us,  he  may  still  be  feed 
ing  us  with  the  bread  of  life,  though  it  may  taste  to 
us  less  sweet  and  refreshing  than  we  have  known  it 
do.  If,  as  years  go  on,  the  time  comes,  when  even 
under  the  roof-tree  of  a  long-parted  father's  house, 
even  standing  by  his  young  sister's  grave,  the  man  of 
no  more  than  middle  age  wonders  that  he  feels  so 
little  where  once  he  felt  so  much,  we  need  not  wonder 
if  the  same  law  extends  to  even  the  holiest  emotion. 
And  though  we  may  think  of  it  with  sorrow,  we  need 
not  necessarily  think  of  it  with  remorse,  if  we  have 
grown  in  some  degree  "  past  feeling." 

But  while  it  would  not  have  been  right,  had  I 
failed  to  mark  this  great  exception  to  the  general 
principle  which  seems  to  be  implied  in  the  text,  it 
would  be  wrong,  did  I  fail  to  add,  that  it  is  only  to 
such  as  have  really  some  good  ground  for  hoping 
that  they  have  believed  in  Christ,  that  all  this  should 
be  any  ground  of  comfort.  If  a  man  is  truly  a  Chris 
tian,  then  the  fact,  that  as  time  goes  on,  religious 
truths  come  to  affect  him  less,  and  less  than  he  could 
wish,  may  be  explained  by  these  two  laws  of  mind  : 
that  when  things  grow  quite  familiar,  they  strike  us 
less,  and  cannot  but  strike  us  less,  than  when  they 
are  new  and  strange ;  and  also,  that  as  we  grow  older, 
we  grow,  by  the  make  of  our  being,  less  susceptible 
of  the  warm,  lively  feelings  of  childhood  and  of  youth. 


SPIRITUAL  INSENSIBILITY.  125 

But  if  a  man  be  not  a  believer;  and  if,  when  he 
listens  to  the  declaration  of  the  doctrines  of  the  Cross, 
he  understands  them  but  does  not  feel  them  ;  if  he 
knows  thoroughly  well  that  whosoever  does  not  be 
take  himself  to  the  great  atonement  of  Christ  must 
perish  eternally ;  and  if  he  knows  too  that  he  himself 
has  never  gone  to  Christ,  and  never  prepared  to  die ; 
and  if,  with  all  this,  he  does  not  care ;  ah,  then  there 
is  a  sad  and  a  fearful  explanation  of  how  he  comes  to 
be  so  !  Ah,  there  is  a  sad  and  a  fearful  reason  for  all 
this  insensibility  !  Is  there  not  some  reason  at  least  to 
fear  that  this  dead  calm,  this  utter  heedlessness,  is  be 
cause  God's  Spirit  has  let  that  man  alone,  has  given 
him  up,  and  is  striving  with  him  no  more  ?  Is  there  not 
something  awful  and  strange,  something  beyond  the 
mere  spiritual  insensibility  of  nature,  in  the  calm  reck 
lessness,  the  cool  apathetic  indifference,  of  the  man 
who  knows  perfectly  that  there  is  but  a  step  between 
him  and  death,  and  that  to  him  death  means  perdition  ; 
and  yet  who  lives  on  quite  quietly  and  comfortably, 
attending  to  his  business,  enjoying  his  home  comforts, 
improving  his  estate  —  and  does  not  care  !  Ah,  has 
God  indeed  given  him  up?  Is  the  black  brand  al 
ready,  if  we  could  but  see  it,  on  that  composed  and 
polite  face !  How  else  can  we  understand  how  he  can 
come  regularly,  perhaps,  to  church ;  and  listen  to 
doctrines  that  should  save,  that  should  at  the  very 
least  alarm  him ;  and  believe  them  all  ;  and  go  away 
home  and  never  mind  !  Surely  there  seems  to  be  no 


126  SPIRITUAL  INSENSIBILITY. 

other  way  in  which  it  is  possible  to  explain  a  state  of 
things  which  exists  in  too  many  cases,  —  which  is  a 
sadly  common  one,  —  than  by  supposing  that  the  de 
cree  has  gone  forth  which  we  know  went  forth  con 
cerning  ancient  Ephraim  :  "He  is  joined  to  his  idols, 
let  him  alone !  "  Surely  you  would  say,  that  man  is 
not  sane !  Surely  he  is  under  some  fatal,  mysterious 
influence,  that  paralyzes  the  soul's  perceptions,  and 
that  deadens  its  feelings  !  And  so  he  is,  my  friends. 
So  are  all  of  you,  who  weekly  listen  to  the  preached 
gospel,  yet  never  seriously  go  to  Christ,  and  never 
earnestly  seek  to  make  your  peace  with  God.  A 
faithfully  preached  gospel  will  act  upon  the  soul  in 
one  of  two  perfectly  opposite  ways.  It  will  either 
save,  or  it  will  harden.  And  if  it  do  not  save,  it  is 
sure  to  harden.  If  you  listen  to  the  declaration  of 
the  message  of  mercy,  —  if  you  come  to  know  all 
about  it,  —  if  you  grow  familiar  with  all  the  argu 
ments  which  the  Christian  minister  can  employ  to 
impress  it  upon  your  heart,  —  and  yet  if  after  all 
you  do  not  become  a  believer,  —  then  if  all  this  has 
gone  on  for  years,  it  is  less  likely  that  the  arrow  of 
conviction  will  ever  reach  your  obdurate,  your  hard 
ened  heart,  than  if  you  were  a  poor  heathen  in  some 
darkened  land  that  never  heard  of  Jesus,  and  where, 
if  that  blessed  name  ever  should  be  heard,  it  will  come 
with  the  freshness  of  a  surprise.  The  gospel  has 
hardened  you  !  The  Saviour  has  knocked  at  the  door 
so  long,  while  you  never  opened  it,  that  now  you  have 


SPIRITUAL  INSENSIBILITY.  127 

grown  familiar  with  the  sound,  and  it  is  never  noticed 
by  your  listless  ear.  We  feel  deeply,  and  right  that 
we  should,  for  the  missionary  laboring  in  distant  lands, 
and  seeking  to  convey  the  elements  of  the  knowledge 
of  Christ  to  the  narrow  understanding  of  the  untutored 
savage;  but  narrow  as  is  that  untutored  being's  under 
standing,  still  he  has  a  heart  capable  of  deep  feeling, 
and  on  his  ear  the  glad  tidings  fall  fresh  and  new. 
And  perhaps  the  deeper  sympathy  is  due,  where  we 
should  hardly  think  of  giving  it,  —  due  to  the  earnest 
minister  of  some  beautiful  country  parish,  whose  con 
gregation  has  listened  to  the  gospel  message  so  long, 
that  many  among  it  are  thoroughly  hardened  ;  that 
all  who  are  not  converted  are  hopelessly  hardened ; 
and  have  been  so  often  roused  to  inefficacious  con 
victions,  to  passing  concern  that  ended  in  nothing, 
that  now  you  need  speak  to  them  no  more,  —  that 
now  they  are  "  past  feeling." 

Then,  brethren,  let  it  be  your  earnest  prayer  and 
endeavor  at  once  to  go  to  him  who  came  to  seek  and 
save  the  lost.  There  is  deep  philosophy,  there  is  ac 
curate  knowledge  of  human  nature,  in  the  inspired 
warning,  "To-day,  if  ye  will  hear  his  voice,  harden 
not  your  hearts."  For,  speaking  humanly,  every  day 
that  repentance  is  put  off,  is  making  repentance  more 
difficult.  "  Now  is  the  accepted  time,  now  is  the  day 
of  salvation."  With  every  succeeding  day,  your  hearts 
are  growing  harder ;  you  are  becoming  less  capable  of 
receiving  any  deep  impression,  or  of  making  any  vital 


128  SPIRITUAL  INSENSIBILITY. 

change.  You  are  leaving  behind  you,  day  by  day,  the 
more  impressible  season  of  your  life.  And  if  you  live 
on,  you  are  advancing  to  years  in  which  the  heart  will 
always  be  more  difficult  to  touch ;  and  in  which  the 
care  of  religion,  neglected  so  long,  may  become  more 
than  difficult,  —  may  become  impossible.  The  Holy 
Spirit,  without  whom  you  can  do  nothing,  may  be 
finally  grieved  away.  You  may  reach  at  last  that 
hopeless  condition,  that  you  shall  know  quite  well  that 
your  soul  is  lost;  and  yet  only  wish  to  think  of  some 
thing  else,  and  only  feel  that  you  do  not  care.  You 
may  live  to  know,  that,  as  regards  religion,  you  are 
"past  feeling,"  and  so  past  hope.  It  must  be  sad, 
indeed,  to  see  the  hardened  criminal  listen  to  the 
sentence  of  death,  which  the  judge  who  utters  it  can 
scarcely  pronounce,  with  utter  insensibility ;  but  all 
men  think  of  him  as  of  some  monstrous  exception  to 
the  common  nature  of  humanity.  And  surely  it  is 
sadder  by  far  to  see  a  human  being,  a  rational  man, 
going  onwards  to  a  doom  which  Jesus  wept  to  think 
of,  which  Jesus  died  to  save  from,  —  careless,  heedless, 
feelingless  as  a  stone.  And  yet  there  are  some  in 
every  congregation  who  are  doing  all  that !  Oh,  God 
have  mercy  on  such,  if  there  are  any  here  !  You  have 
lived  too  long,  my  friends.  You  have  outlived  "  the 
day  of  your  visitation."  What  can  we  do  but  pray 
that  the  Divine  Spirit  may  even  yet  speak  to  you,  in 
sentences  so  telling,  that  they  shall  touch  and  pene 
trate  even  the  obdurate  heart,  that,  to  human  power, 
is  "  past  feeling !  " 


VIII. 
LIGHT   AT  EVENING. 

"  But  it  shall  come  to  pass,  that  at  evening-time  it  shall  be  light." 
ZECHARIAH  xiv.  7. 

T  is  when  the  day  is  drawing  to  its  close, 
that  most  men  have  their  hour  of  leisure. 
The  season  of  toil  is  past,  the  task  is  laid 
apart,  the  strain  upon  bone  and  sinew  is 
relaxed  ;  and  if  it  be  the  winter-time,  we  gather  around 
the  fire  to  enjoy  the  feeling  of  repose  ;  and  if  it  be  the 
summer  days  that  are  passing  over  us,  we  wander  forth 
in  the  declining  light,  and  mark  how  nature  sinks  to 
slumber.  We  know,  most  of  us,  how  nature  looks  at 
evening,  better  than  we  know  how  she  seems  in  the 
busier  hours  of  the  day ;  we  are  too  much  occupied 
during  them  to  have  time  for  watching  the  aspect  of 
trees  and  fields,  the  form  of  clouds  and  the  azure  of 
the  sky.  But  in  our  evening  leisure  we  have  many 
a  time  had  the  opportunity  of  marking  the  sun's  grad 
ual  withdrawal,  the  shadows  as  they  darkened  upon 
the  landscape,  the  mist  stealing  upward  from  the 
river,  and  its  murmur  deepening  upon  the  ear,  the 
leaves  so  motionless,  the  silent  fields,  the  universal 
hush  and  quiet.  But  after  all,  if  we  were  asked  what 
6* 


130  LIGHT  AT  EVENING. 

it  is  that  makes  the  evening-time,  —  even  the  even 
ing-time  of  summer,  —  we  have  no  difficulty  in  sin 
gling  out  from  the  many  features  which  we  have  re 
marked  so  often,  that  which  is  the  essence  of  the 
evening,  and  the  cause  of  them  all.  It  is  the  gradual 
withdrawal  of  the  light.  It  is  the  lessening  light,  after 
all,  that  makes  the  evening-time.  It  is  because  of  that 
that  the  daisies  close,  and  the  birds  fly  to  their  nests, 
and  this  hush  comes  over  nature.  And  it  is  just  be 
cause  evening  is  the  time  when,  in  the  ordinary  course 
of  things,  the  light  is  going  and  the  darkness  is  com 
ing,  that  there  is  anything  remarkable  in  the  text 
\vhich  you  have  read.  "  At  the  evening-time  there 
shall  be  light;'*  that  is,  light  shall  come  at  a  period 
when  it  is  not  natural,  when  in  the  common  course  of 
things  it  is  not  looked  for.  It  would  be  no  surprise 
that  light  should  come  at  noonday.  We  expect  it 
then.  It  is  just  what  we  are  accustomed  to  see. 
Hundreds  and  thousands  of  times  we  know  that  the 
sun  has  risen,  and  steadily  advanced  to  his  meridian 
splendor ;  and  all  this,  we  think,  is  only  the  usual 
tiling.  But  if,  when  the  twilight  shadows  were  fall 
ing  deeper  and  deeper,  when  the  distant  woods  seemed 
in  a  slumberous  trance,  and  the  distant  hills  showed 
purple  against  the  soft  crimson,  with  a  sudden  burst 
the  noonday  light  were  to  spread  around, —  that  would 
be  a  surprise.  It  would  be  indeed  only  a  thing  which 
we  are  accustomed  to  see,  but  it  would  be  coming  at 
a  time  when  we  are  not  accustomed  to  see  it.  Yet 


LIGHT  AT  EVENING.  131 

nothing  less  than  this  is  signified  in  that  remarkable 
promise,  given  first  to  the  Church  of  God  and  then 
to  individual  believers,  that  in  their  experience,  in 
their  day,  "  at  the  evening-time  it  shall  be  light." 

That  is,  to  state  the  promise  in  the  form  of  a  gen 
eral  principle,  great  and  signal  blessing  shall  come 
just  when  it  is  least  expected.  Evening,  usually  the 
season  of  increasing  and  encroaching  darkness,  is  to 
be  the  season  of  special  light.  And  this  would  be  a 
noteworthy  thing,  if  it  happened  at  the  close  of  the 
very  brightest  day.  But  it  appears,  from  the  words 
which  precede  the  text,  that  this  special  light  is  prom 
ised  at  the  end  of  a  day  which  should  be  somewhat 
overcast  and  dreary.  "  It  shall  come  to  pass  in  that 
day,  that  the  light  shall  not  be  clear,  nor  dark  ;  but  it 
shall  be  one  day  which  shall  be  known  to  the  Lord, 
not  day,  nor  night ;  but  it  shall  come  to  pass,  that  at 
evening-time  it  shall  be  light."  The  day,  you  per 
ceive,  was  not  to  be  one  of  unmingled  serenity,  nor 
yet  of  unrejieved  gloominess  ;  there  should  be,  per 
haps,  succession  of  light  and  shadow,  and  for  great 
part  of  it,  it  might  be,  a  subdued  and  sober  gray  ;  but 
however  that  might  be,  light  should  come  upon  the 
darkened  way  at  last.  And  in  all  this,  we  have  the 
picture  set  before  us,  of  the  ordinary  Christian's  ordi 
nary  life,  and  likewise  of  the  history  of  the  collective 
Church  of  God.  As  regards  our  daily  life,  my  be 
lieving  friends,  how  true  it  is  that  "  the  light  is  not 
clear,  nor  dark  ; "  childhood  looks  sunshiny  when  we 


132  LIGHT   AT   EVENING. 

cast  back  our  glance  upon  it ;  and  youth,  too,  has  its 
bright  blinks  of  light-heartedness  and  freedom  from 
care ;  but  as  years  go  on,  life  turns  but  a  matter-of- 
fact  and  commonplace  thing;  not  much  of  the -old 
gayety  is  left,  not  much  of  the  elastic  spring  of  spirit 
but  is  pressed  out  by  the  weary  load  of  constant  care ; 
and  yet  it  would  be  unjust  to  say  that,  except  in  ex 
ceptional  seasons  of  deep  sorrow,  life  is  all  gloom  ; 
there  is  usually  something  to  enjoy,  as  well  as  some 
thing  to  bear  ;  there  is  an  equable  sobriety,  a  sort  of 
average  endurableness,  about  this  "  pleasing,  anxious 
being ;  "  the  light  is  "  not  clear,  nor  dark."  And  so, 
too,  as  regards  our  spiritual  life.  It  is  with  that  just 
very  much  as  it  is  with  our  outward  lot.  There  are 
times,  indeed,  when  we  seem  to  be  upon  the  moun 
tain's  summit,  and  to  feel  the  light  of  our  heavenly 
Father's  face  beaming  upon  us  without  a  cloud  be 
tween,  and  to  see  the  promised  land  almost  as  it  were 
under  our  feet;  perhaps  on  a  Communion  Sabbath, 
perhaps  in  a  lonely  walk,  perhaps  in  an  hour  of  sol 
itary  prayer ;  but  oh,  how  fast  these  glimpses  of  sun 
shine  leave  us,  and  we  may  be  thankful  if  it  is  no 
worse  with  us  than  just  that  the  light  is  u  not  clear, 
nor  dark  ; "  for  sometimes  there  come  days  of  spirit 
ual  desertion  and  depression,  in  which  it  seems  to  us 
as  if  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  would  never  shine 
upon  us  more.  It  should  seem  as  if  God  judged  that 
neither  in  providence  nor  in  grace  would  it  be  good 
for  us  to  have  either  unvarying  gladness  or  unvarying 


LIGHT  AT   EVENING.  133 

gloom  ;  they  shall  come  to  us  in  succession  ;  —  or,  if 
we  are  to  have  anything  for  a  continuance,  it  shall  be 
a  sobered  twilight,  "  not  clear,  nor  dark."  And  so, 
too,  in  the  history  of  God's  Church  on  earth ;  it  is  but 
seldom  it  has  known  great  extremity,  whether  of  good 
or  ill  ;  there  is  for  the  most  part  mercy  for  which  to 
be  thankful,  as  well  as  judgment  to  which  to  bow. 
But  however  heavily  the  day  might  drag  through, 
with  however  little  of  joyous  light  throughout  its 
course,  it  was  quite  certain  how  it  should  close,  so 
only  it  were  a  Christian  day.  There  might  be  no 
great  light  where  it  might  have  been  looked  for ;  but 
that  should  be  compensated  by  abundant  light  where 
men  might  have  expected  none.  At  the  evening- 
time,  if  never  before,  —  at  the  evening-time,  there 
should  be  an  end  of  that  subdued  twilight.  Then, 
there  should  be  light  at  last.  When  the  Christian's 
little  day  has  drawn  to  its  close,  when  the  Christian's 
earthly  sun  has  set,  then  there  should  be  to  him  the 
beginning  of  a  day  whose  sun  shall  never  go  down, 
and  whose  brightness  shall  be  lessened  by  no  intru 
sion  of  the  dark.  Then  a  day  shall  break  in  which 
there  shall  be  no  anxiety,  no  care,  no  sorrow,  no  hid 
ing  of  God's  face,  no  struggle  with  temptation,  no  fall 
into  sin  ;  not  one  moment's  darkness  to  mingle  with 
that  unvaried  day.  And  so,  too,  with  the  Church  of 
the  living  God,  as  with  the  separate  members  of  it. 
When  the  world's  day  is  closing  in,  when  Time's  even 
ing  is  hastening  on,  then  a  light  will  be  dawning  upon 


134  LIGHT  AT  EVENING. 

the  Church,  purer  and  better  a  million  times  than  that 
which  led  her  forth  from  the  ages  which  we  call  dark. 
At  the  evening-time  there  shall  be  light ;  and  as  for 
the  season  which  shall  follow  the  evening-time,  we 
know  that  it  shall  find  the  triumphant  Church  in  that 
country  to  which  darkness  can  never  come;  because 
concerning  that  ceuntry,  God's  word  assures  us,  that 
41  there  shall  be  no  night  there  !  " 

We  understand  the  text,  then,  first,  in  its  most 
general  and  extensive  meaning,  as  signifying  that,  in 
God's  dealing  with  his  children,  it  very  often  happens 
that  signal  blessing  and  deliverance  come  just  when 
they  are  needed  most,  but  expected  least.  "  Man's 
extremity,"  we  are  sometimes  told,  "  is  God's  oppor 
tunity  ; "  it  is  when  times  are  at  the  worst  that  they 
begin  to  mend.  I  purpose  to  show  the  prevalence  of 
this  law  in  the  Almighty's  treatment  of  believers  in 
dividually  ;  a  thought  upon  days  past  will  suffice  to 
remind  us  how  often  the  case  has  proved  so  as  regards 
the  collective  Church.  When  was  it  that  the  first 
great  promise  was  given,  that  contained  the  germ  of 
so  many  more,  "exceeding  great  and  precious,"  but  in 
the  hour  of  that  first  sin  which  brought  in  so  much 
death  and  woe  ?  Surely  it  was  in  as  dark  a  season  as 
ever  over-clouded  this  world,  that  the  first  beams  of 
the  Sun  of  Righteousness  trembled  upon  the  gloomy 
horizon.  When  and  where  was  it  that  Abraham  was 
called  out  to  be  the  Father  of  the  Faithful,  but  in  a 
country  and  an  ase  of  the  most  degraded  idol-wor- 


LIGHT  AT  EVENING.  135 

ship  ?  When  did  deliverance  come  to  God's  oppressed 
people  in  the  land  of  Egypt,  but  when  their  slavery 
had  grown  altogether  intolerable, —  when  the  heavy 
task  was  doubled,  and  the  first-born  doomed  to  die  ? 
When  did  the  Blessed  Redeemer  himself  come,  but  in 
the  world's  darkest  day  ?  He,  the  "  true  light."  shone 
upon  our  race  just  when  "  darkness  had  covered  the 
earth,  and  thick  darkness  the  people."  And,  not  to 
multiply  instances,  was  it  not  when,  through  centuries 
of  ignorance  and  degeneracy,  the  better  light  of  the 
glorious  gospel  was  all  but  entirely  eclipsed  and  hid 
den  from  men's  eyes  by  falsehood  and  superstition, 
that  men  were  raised  up  to  clear  away  the  accumu 
lated  rubbish  of  the  Papacy,  and  set  out  gospel-doc 
trines  in  their  saving  simplicity  again  ?  The  least 
acquaintance  with  the  history  of  the  world  will  bring 
before  us  a  host  of  instances  in  which  the  oppressed 
and  persecuted,  sometimes  the  cold  and  apathetic, 
Church  of  God  found  better  days  dawn  when  they 
were  least  looked  for,  and  so  found  the  fulfilment  of 
the  promise,  that  "  at  the  evening-time  there  should 
be  light." 

And  now,  when  we  turn  to  think  of  individual 
Christians,  I  might  well  trust  the  illustration  of  my 
text  to  the  memory  and  the  heart  of  each  of  you, — 
of  those  among  you,  I  mean,  who  are  able  humbly  to 
trust  that  you  have  given  your  souls  to  his  keeping, 
who  is  able  to  preserve  what  is  committed  to  him  till 
the  great  day  of  account.  Ah,  no  sermon  that  I  could 


136  LIGHT  AT  EVENING. 

write  will  go  home  to  the  aged  Christian's  heart,  like 
that  sermon  which  is  gently  breathed  to  him  from  his 
own  life's  story.  You  do  not  need  to  tell  him  that  in 
the  experience  of  Christ's  people,  at  the  evening-time 
there  often  comes  light ;  for  he  has  found  it  so.  He 
has  learned  it  by  experience.  Many  a  time,  through 
the  years  of  his  life,  it  has  seemed  as  though  darkness 
were  settling  down  upon  his  path  and  his  home  ;  but 
when  things  were  almost  at  the  blackest,  of  a  sudden 
his  heavenly  Father  sent  unlooked-for  deliverance  ; 
the  perplexity  was  unravelled,  the  cloud  was  dispersed, 
the  falling  stroke  was  withheld,  the  loss  was  compen 
sated  a  hundred-fold,  the  bereavement  was  blessed  and 
sanctified;  the  light  came  softly,  beautifully,  upon  the 
benighted  way.  Yes,  the  humble  Christian's  life  is 
the  best  sermon  upon  this  text ;  arid  his  own  memory 
the  best  preacher.  Each  Christian  has  had  his  own 
dark  seasons,  to  which  God  sent  his  own  light ;  and 
these  times  of  needfulness  and  of  deliverance  are 
known,  perhaps,  to  no  one  but  himself,  —  not  even,  it 
may  be,  to  his  very  dearest.  There  is  an  inner  world 
of  thought  and  feeling  in  which  each  of  us  lives, 
wherein  we  are  profoundly  alone ;  and  many  a  light 
and  shadow  may  sweep  over  that  little  world,  many  a 
twilight  gloominess  may  come,  and  many  a  heaven 
sent  light  may  scatter  it,  of  which  none  save  ourselves 
will  ever  know.  And  what  reflecting  person  but  must 
look  with  interest  upon  some  thoughtful,  aged  man,  as 
he  thinks  what  an  unread  volume  there  is  within  that 


LIGHT  AT  EVENING.  137 

aged  man's  heart,  in,  the  remembrance  of  his  own 
history,  and  in  his  reflections  upon  its  changes  and 
events  ?  Yet,  though  I  never  can  know  with  what 
peculiar  force  my  text  may  present  itself  to  each 
of  you,  my  Chri.-tian  friends,  or  from  what  passages  in 
your  own  life  you  may  draw  your  most  impressive  il 
lustrations  of  my  text ;  still,  let  us  in  that  general  way 
in  which  alone  it  is  possible  to  discourse  on  a  sub 
ject  like  this,  in  discoursing  upon  which  the  preacher 
is  but  drawing  a  bow  at  a  venture,  think  of  several 
occasions  in  the  life  of  each  of  us,  on  which  light  has 
come,  or  may  yet  come,  at  evening-time. 

And  first,  my  Christian  friends,  has  it  been  in  your 
experience,  that  you  did  not  feel  the  light  of  God's 
reconciled  countenance  lifted  upon  you,  but  after  a 
dark  eventide  of  anxiety  and  fear  ?  We  know  that 
in  the  common  course  of  God's  grace,  the  soul  must 
be  awakened  from  worldliness  and  carelessness  by 
fear ;  we  must  be  convinced  of  our  sin  and  misery  by 
nature  by  God's  Holy  Spirit,  before  we  feel  our  need 
of  a  Saviour,  and  surrender  our  helpless,  sinful  souls 
to  him  by  simple  faith.  How  many  a  one  has  never 
known  what  it  was  to  find  peace  and  rest  in  Jesus,  till 
he  had  passed  through  a  fiery  trial ;  till  he  had  been 
made  to  feel  his  sins  a  burden  that  was  like  to  drive 
him  to  utter  despair  !  How  many  a  one  can  tell  that 
the  very  darkest  days  of  his  life  were  the  days  of  his 
spiritual  awakening  ;  that  the  terrors  of  the  law  laid 
their  grasp  upon  him  ;  that  he  felt  himself  a  sinner 


138  LIGHT  AT  EVENING. 

above  all  other  men  ;  and  that  not  till  after  a  long 
and  gloomy  evening,  say  rather  night,  the  happy  light 
visited  his  soul !  Not  that  in  every  case  it  is  so. 
Not  but  that  some  happy  souls  may  have  been  re 
generated  from  their  very  birth,  and,  growing  up  un 
der  the  pious  influences  of  a  Christian  home,  may  have 
chosen  Jesus  as  their  portion  from  the  earliest  dawn 
of  intelligence,  and  thus  may  have  needed  no  conver 
sion  ;  for  conversion  means  turning  into  another  way 
and  wherefore  should  they  do  that  who,  trained  up  in 
the  way  they  should  go,  are  advancing  in  the  heaven 
ward  path  already  ?  But  though  such  cases  are  con 
ceivable,  we  believe  that  they  are  very  rare  ;  that  no 
holy  training,  however  constant  and  kindly,  can  pre 
vent  the  children  of  the  most  pious  parents  from  being 
at  least  thoughtless  and  careless  as  to  their  soul's  sal 
vation  ;  and  who  that  has  ever  been  aroused  to  a  con 
viction  of  guilt  and  danger,  but  knows  that  that  is  a 
sin  which  sits  heavy  and  crushing  as  any,  upon  the 
quickened  soul  ?  Yes,  most  men  need  conversion  ; 
and  conversion  is,  for  the  most  part,  a  dark  and  miser 
able  time.  But  that  is  a  darkness  which  is  followed 
by  a  gracious  light.  The  more  heavily  the  burden  of 
sin  is  felt  to  press  upon  the  soul,  the  more  heartily 
will  the  soul  turn  to  him  who  alone  can  take  it  away. 
The  deeper  the  darkness,  the  pleasanter  the  following 
light.  It  seemed  to  you,  perhaps,  that  your  sins  were 
too  great  to  be  forgiven  ;  that  you  had  broken  your 
purposes  of  amendment  so  often,  and  trifled  with  the 


LIGHT   AT  EVENING.  139 

go.-pel  invitations  so  long,  that  now  there  was  no  hope 
for  you,  —  that  God's  Spirit  was  quite  grieved  away. 
But  at  last  you  were  brought  to  feel  how  free  is  the 
offer  of  salvation,  how  willing  God  is  to  receive  the 
repenting  sinner,  how  sure  is  that  precious  sheet- 
anchor  of  the  despairing  soul,  "  Him  that  cometh 
unto  me  I  will  in  nowise  cast  out ;  "  you  were  en 
abled  with  all  your  heart  and  mind  to  trust  yourself 
to  your  Saviour ;  and  then  the  gloom  was  scattered, 
and  "  at  the  evening-time  there  was  light." 

Let  me  further  mention  to  you,  as  another  occasion 
on  which  the  gracious  promise  in  the  text  has  often 
proved  true  to  the  Christian,  the  season  of  great  trial, 
—  of  losses,  disappointments,  bereavements.  Every 
one  knows  that  these  are  indeed  dark  seasons  in  our 
life  ;  and  the  Christian  knows  that  it  has  often  hap 
pened  that  wonderful  support  and  strong  consolation 
have  often  been  vouchsafed  to  him  as  he  was  passing 
through  them,  —  that  amid  the  dreary  evening  there 
stole  in  a  strange,  unearthly  light.  And  I  am  not 
thinking  now  of  those  times  when  the  darkness  was, 
so  to  speak,  entirely  dissipated,  —  when  the  threatened 
trial  was  prevented  from  coming  at  all ;  when  the 
hope,  though  long  deferred,  met  with  its  fulfilment  at 
last,  when  the  dear  one  whose  loss  you  dreaded  was 
wonderfully  restored  and  spared  to  you.  I  desire 
you  to  think  of  those  sad  seasons  when  sorrow  did 
its  very  worst ;  when  the  cherished  plan  was  entirely 
frustrated,  when  the  possession  you  so  prized  was 


140  LIGHT  AT  EVENING. 

wrecked,  and  the  friend  you  so  loved  died.  Even 
then,  have  you  not  sometimes  found  it  so,  that  a 
heavenly  light  has  stolen  into  the  bleeding  heart,  inlo 
the  darkened  chamber,  into  the  house  of  death  ?  No 
doubt,  indeed,  it  was  a  sore  trial  when  it  pleased  God 
to  shut  against  you  the  way  to  that  earthly  eminence, 
honor,  usefulness,  on  which  you  had  set  your  heart ; 
no  doubt  it  was  a  miserable  time  when  you  were 
forced  to  turn  your  back  upon  the  scenes  and  the 
friends  you  loved  best  in  this  world,  and,  pressed  by 
the  hard  exigencies  of  life,  to  go  far  away  ;  no  doubt, 
it  was  a  time  not  even  yet  to  be  remembered  but  with 
some  return  of  the  old  aching  desolation,  when  death 
made  the  first  break  in  the  family  circle,  and  you  saw 
the  face  that  used  to  brighten  at  your  presence,  heed 
less,  fixed,  and  cold.  These  were  indeed  the  dark 
periods  of  your  life  ;  but  still  the  darkness  was  not 
quite  unrelieved.  Did  you  not  feel,  with  something 
like  surprise,  that  now  the  worst  had  come,  you  were 
far  less  crushed  down  by  it  than  you  had  expected  ; 
that  whatever  was  taken  from  you,  you  still  had  much 
left  to  be  thankful  for  ;  that  as  for  the  disappointment, 
—  well,  perhaps  things  were  better  as  they  were ;  that 
as  for  the  bereavement,  bitter  as  that  was,  you  could 
bear  it  when  you  remembered  how  far  happier  it  was 
to  be  a  pure  and  blessed  spirit  in  the  perfect  safety 
and  peace  above,  than  to  be  perhaps  a  poor  sufferer 
in  this  evil  world  of  sin  and  peril  and  sorrow  and 
risk  of  endless  loss  ;  and  when  you  remembered,  too, 


LIGHT  AT  EVENING.  141 

that  the  same  happy  world  to  which  your  lost  friend 
had  gone  before  you  was  inviting  you  no  less  to  enter 
upon  its  endless  rest  and  quiet  and  union.  And  so, 
at  the  evening-time  there  came  light;  quietly,  meekly, 
humbly,  you  set  yourself  to  the  duties  that  remained 
to  you  ;  you  would  do  your  task,  you  thought,  though 
with  a  breaking  heart ;  you  would  try  to  feel  kindly 
towards  all  around  you,  though  you  never  could  care 
for  any  as  for  those  who  were  no  longer  here  ;  resig 
nation  and  content  might  come,  you  thought,  but 
cheerfulness  and  light-heartedness  you  did  not  look 
for ;  till,  as  the  days  and  weeks  crept  on,  you  felt  the 
revival  of  the  old  interest  in  life  ;  you  ceased  to  feel 
it  a  mournful  contrast  between  the  desolate  feeling 
within,  and  the  smiling  face  of  the  summer  world  ; 
you  felt  the  strength  growing  equal  to  the  day,  the 
strong  consolation  matching  the  need  for  it ;  the  cloud 
was  there  yet,  but  the  sunshine  was  breaking  through ; 
it  was  still  the  twilight,  but  there,  in  the  distant  hori 
zon,  you  could  see  the  dawn  of  brighter  days  ;  you 
had  found,  in  a  word,  the  fulfilment  of  God's  blessed 
promise,  that  grace  and  strength  and  consolation 
should  come  when  they  were  most  needed  but  least 
expected  ;  that  "  at  the  evening-time  there  shall  be 
light !  " 

Thus,  then,  my  friends,  we  have  thought  of  several 
times  in  the  progress  of  the  Christian's  life,  at  which 
he  may  find,  through  God's  grace,  some  fulfilment  of 
this  precious  promise  ;  and  now,  in  the  last  place,  let 


142  LIGHT  AT  EVENING. 

us  think  of  one  time  more,  at  which  the  evening  may 
be  darker,  at  which  the  evening  will  deepen  into  night, 
but  at  which  the  light  that  comes  shall  be  perfect  and 
never-setting.  It  is  to  that  period,  doubtless,  that  the 
text,  when  applied  to  individual  Christians,  makes 
especial  reference  ;  the  evening-time  of  life,  when  the 
dark  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death  must  be  trodden. 
The  day  of  life,  shall  we  think,  is  drawing  to  its  close. 
It  has  been,  on  the  whole,  a  sober  day,  with  "  the  light 
not  clear,  nor  dark  ; "  there  has  been  neither  unvary 
ing  sunshine,  nor  unvarying  gloom ;  there  have  been, 
no  doubt,  some  great  trials  in  it,  and  a  host  of  little, 
insect  cares,  which  do  no  worse  than  fret  and  annoy  ; 
it  has  seemed,  perhaps,  a  dull  and  weary  thing,  yet 
we  have  grown  to  like  even  its  dulness  and  common 
ness  ;  it  has  had  within  it  times  of  special  elevation, 
love  to  the  Redeemer,  trust  in  God  ;  and  it  has  had, 
too,  its  seasons  of  backsliding,  of  coldness  and  world- 
liness,  of  lack  of  interest  in  spiritual  engagements, 
of  despondency,  and  almost  of  despair.  For  the  day 
of  grace  goes  by  just  such  rules  as  the  day  of  provi 
dence  ;  and,  save  a  few  blessed  and  memorable  be 
lievers,  who  have  seemed  to  breathe  the  air  of  heaven 
even  while  they  lived  on  earth,  it  is  the  general 
experience  of  even  the  earnest  .believer,  that  his 
inward  feeling,  like  his  outward  lot,  is  a  checkered 
one,  is  in  the  main  a  sobered  one,  —  is  shone  upon 
by  a  light  which  is  "  not  clear,  nor  dark."  But  the 
evening  of  the  long  day  is  drawing  on  at  length ;  the 


LIGHT  AT  EVENING.  143 

day  that  dawned  with  the  sunny  cheerfulness  of  in 
fancy  and  childhood,  that  went  on  amid  the  growing 
cares  of  maturity,  that  sloped  westerly  amid  the  en 
feebled  powers  and  the  flagging  hopes  of  age  ;  and  as 
the  evening  advances,  as  the  hours  go  on  in  which 
the  light  that  had  lasted  through  the  day  might  natu 
rally  grow  less,  —  strange  how  it  oftentimes  is  that  that 
unwearied  light  does  but  beam  brighter  and  clearer  ! 
It  was  but  a  cloudy  day;  but  the  Sun  of  Righteousness 
has  broken  through  the  clouds  ;  the  flaming  west  is 
all  purple  and  gold ;  it  is  the  evening-time,  and  oh, 
how  fair  its  light !  It  has  sometimes  been  as  in  that 
beautiful  story,  that  the  last  steps  before  the  dark 
river  was  reached  lay  through  the  land  Beulah  ;  — 
that  already  the  brightness  of  the  Golden  City  shone 
from  afar  upon  the  believer's  face,  and  his  sharpened 
ear  could  almost  catch  the  fall  of  its  ceaseless  songs. 
I  do  not  say  that  such  a  thing  is  common  ;  all  I  say 
is  that  such  a  thing  has  been  ;  and  wherefore  should 
it  not  be  again  with  you  or  me  ?  I  shall  not  pretend 
to  describe  this  happy  state  in  my  own  words  ;  I  shall 
tell  you  about  it  in  the  words  of  one  who  spoke  from 
his  own  experience,  and  who,  shortly  before  he  died, 
wrote  as  thus  :  — "  Were  1  to  adopt  the  figurative  lan 
guage  of  Bunyan,  I  might  date  this  letter  from  the 
land  of  Beulah,  of  which  I  have  been  for  some  weeks 
a  happy  inhabitant.  The  Celestial  City  is  full  in  my 
view.  Its  glories  have  been  upon  me,  its  breezes 
fan  me,  its  odors  are  wafted  to  me,  its  sounds  strike 


144  LIGHT  AT  EVENING. 

upon  my  ears,  and  its  spirit  is  breathed  into  my  heart. 
Nothing  separates  me  from  it  but  the  river  of  death, 
which  now  appears  but  as  an  insignificant  rill,  that 
may  be  crossed  at  a  single  step,  whenever  God  shall 
give  permission.  The  Sun  of  Righteousness  has  been 
gradually  drawing  nearer  and  nearer,  appearing  larger 
and  brighter  as  he  approached,  and  now  he  fills  the 
whole  hemisphere  ;  pouring  forth  a  flood  of  glory,  in 
which  I  seem  to  float  like  an  insect  in  the  beams  of 
the  sun  ;  exulting,  yet  almost  trembling,  while  I  gaze 
on  this  excessive  brightness,  and  wondering  with  un 
utterable  wonder  why  God  should  deign  thus  to  shine 
upon  a  sinful  worm."  There,  my  hearers,  are  \vords 
dictated  by  experience ;  that  is  what  was  actually 
written  by  a  dying  man.  And,  oh,  what  need  I  add 
to  it,  to  make  you  feel  how  glorious  a  sermon  it  is 
upon  the  blessed  promise,  that  "  at  the  evening-time 
there  shall  be  light ! " 

But  then  you  will  say  to  me,  and  say  it  truly,  that 
it  is  not  always  so.  Not  only  is  it  not  the  case  that 
all  who  have  "  died  the  death  of  the  righteous  "  have 
thus  tranquilly,  fearlessly,  hopefully,  triumphantly 
passed  away,  —  but  has  not  such  a  thing  been  known, 
as  that  one  who  was  a  true  Christian,  if  true  Christian 
ever  breathed,  died  absolutely  in  despair  ?  Oh,  who 
can  forget  the  story  of  that  sweet  and  gentle  poet, 
who  would  take  nothing  to  himself  at  the  last  of  the 
comfort  his  words  have  given  to  others  ;  whose  latest 
lines  sadly  tell  us  how  his  soul  was  whelmed  in 


LIGHT  AT   EVENING.  145 

deeper  than  Atlantic  depths  ;  who  regarded  himself 
as  doomed  to  everlasting  perdition  ;  and  who  shud 
dered  at  the  very  mention  of  the  name  of  that  Blessed 
Redeemer  who  was  looking  down  in  kindness  upon 
his  wayward  child  !  But  then,  let  me  remind  you, 
that  fine  as  was  that  poet's  mind,  it  was  a  mind  un 
hinged  and  deranged  ;  and  however  the  Holy  Spirit 
works  upon  the  renewed  soul,  he  no  more  sets  him 
self  to  cure  the  hereditary  diseases  of  the  mind  than 
those  of  the  body.  Religion  does  not  alter  tempera- 
naent:  it  leaves  the  cheerful  man  cheerful;  it  leaves 
the  anxious,  desponding  man  still  prone  to  look  at 
the  future  through  the  haze  of  anxiety  and  fear.  It 
no  more  pretends  to  cure  that  hereditary  taint,  that 
overshadowing  gloom,  that  all  his  life  had  its  grasp 
of  Cowper's  mind,  than  it  pretends  to  weed  out  the 
family  consumption  or  apoplexy  from  the  Christian's 
body ;  and  never  let  us  forget,  that  constitutional 
temperament,  and  the  depressing  influences  of  many 
forms  of  disease,  may  make  dark  and  distressful  the 
dying  bed  of  the  very  best  believer.  Perhaps,  even 
with  true  Christians,  the  death  is  as  the  life  was  ;  the 
evening  is  what  the  day  was,  "  not  clear,  nor  dark,"  as 
the  general  rule.  There  are  blessed  hopes,  but  there 
are  also  distressing  fears.  And  shall  we  say,  then, 
that  this  text  does  not  speak  truth  ?  No,  far  from 
that.  The  light  does  come  ;  and  it  comes  at  evening  ; 
but  evening  is  the  close  of  day  ;  and  the  light  may 
perhaps  not  beam  forth  until  day  has  entirely  closed. 
7 


146  LIGHT   AT  EVENING. 

Not  upon  this  side  of  time  may  the  blessed  promise 
find  its  fulfilment.      The  foot  may  be  dipped  in  the 
chill,  dark  river,  before  the  heavenly  light  has  shone 
upon  the   face.      The  eye  may  be  blind  to  dearest 
faces  and  forms,  ere  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  dawns ; 
as  in  the  natural  world,  the  darkest,  coldest  hour  is 
that  before  the  daybreak.     The  tongue  may  never  be 
able  to  tell  surviving  loved  ones,  how   the  shadows 
fled  away  when  the  dark  valley  was  past,  till   they 
have  passed  through  that  darkness  too.     Yes,  to  the 
believer,  true  as  that  God  liveth,  "  at  the  evening-time 
there  shall  be  light  ; "  if  not  in  this  world,  then  in  a 
better!     Bowing   his  head  to  pass    under   the   dark 
portal,  the  believer  lifts  it  up  on  the  other  side,  in  the 
presence  and  the  light  of  God.     It  is  but  a  single  step 
from  the  darkness  of  death  into  the  light  of  immor 
tality  ;  and  if  the  evening  should  remain  gloomy  to 
its  very  end,  all  the  brighter  will  seem  the  glory  when 
the  latest  breath  has  parted.     I  told   you  how  that 
Christian  poet  passed  away  almost  in  despair,  —  how 
the  gloom  that  overshadowed  his  spirit  endured  all 
but  to  the  end ;  but  even  in  the  last  moment  there 
came  a  wonderful  change,— and  they  tell  us  how  even 
on  his  dead  face,  there  remained  till  it  was  hidden  for 
ever,  a  look  of  bright  and  beautiful  and  sudden  sur 
prise  ;  the  light  at  evening  had  been  long  in  coming ; 
but  oh,  it  had  come  at  last ! 

There  is  something  very  touching  about  the  story 
of  that  eminent  teacher,  the  most  eminent  of  his  time, 


LIGHT  AT  EVENING.  147 

who,  when  his  mind  wandered  in  the  weakness  of  the 
dying  hour,  fancied  himself  among  his  pupils,  engaged 
in  his  accustomed  work ;  and  whose  last  words,  when 
the  shadow  of  death  was  falling  deeper,  were,  "  It 
grows  dark,  boys ;  you  may  go."  There  is  something 
touching  too,  in  the  parting  scene  of  that  great  poet, 
dying  as  the  sun  was  going  down  in  its  summer  glory, 
who  bade  his  friends  raise  him  up  that  he  might  see 
the  light  once  more,  —  open  the  window  that  he  might 
look  on  the  setting  sun  again,  before  his  eyes  should 
close  upon  the  earthly  light  forever.  Arid  very  strange 
it  is,  indexed,  to  stand,  as  some  of  us  may  have  stood, 
in  the  chamber  of  death  ;  and  in  the  west  to  see  the 
summer  sunset  blazing,  and  the  golden  rays  shining 
upon  the  still  face,  and  the  closed  eyes  which  never 
shall  open  more  till  the  sun  has  ceased  to  shine.  But 
it  is  only  to  us  who  remain  that  the  evening  darkness 
is  growing,  —  only  for  us  that  the  sun  is  going  down. 
Oh  !  look  on  the  fixed  features  of  that  disciple  now 
asleep  in  Jesus ;  and  think,  as  the  prophet  spake, 
"  Thy  sun  shall  no  more  go  down  ;  neither  shall  thy 
moon  withdraw  itself;  for  the  Lord  shall  be  thine 
everlasting  light,  and  the  days  of  thy  mourning  shall 
be  ended."  And  oh,  my  hearers,  tell  me  ;  as  the 
evening  falls  on  you,  but  not  on  him  ;  as  the  shadows 
deepen  on  you,  but  not  on  him  ;  as  the  darkness 
gathers  on  you,  but  not  on  him  ;  —  if  now,  at  last,  the 
glorious  promise  has  not  found  its  perfect  fulfilment, 
that  "  at  the  evening-time  there  shall  be  light ! " 


IX. 


A  GREAT  MULTITUDE  A  SAD  SIGHT. 

"  And  Jesus  went  forth,  and  saw  a  great  multitude,  and  was  moved 
with  compassion  toward  them."  —  ST.  MATT.  xiv.  14. 

HERE  is  something,  surely,  that  is  re 
markable  in  this  statement  of  the  evan 
gelist.  Our  Saviour,  we  are  told,  looked 
upon  a  great  multitude  of  human  beings ; 
and  the  feeling  which  that  sight  awakened  in  his 
breast  was  a  feeling  of  pity  and  compassion.  He 
saw  the  people  ;  and  he  felt  sorry  for  them.  Now 
the  general  impression  is,  that  a  great  mass  of  human 
beings  collected  in  one  place  forms  a  grand  and  im 
posing  spectacle  rather  than  a  pitiful  and  a  sad  one. 
Most  people  who  have  seen  a  vast  crowd  of  many 
thousands  of  men,  would  tell  us  that  they  felt  thrilled 
and  awed  at  the  sight ;  —  that  there  was  something  in 
it  inexpressibly  awe-striking  and  impressive.  Any 
one  who  has  been  accustomed  to  worship  God  in  the 
presence  of  a  very  large  congregation,  could  tell  you 
how  fine  a  sight  it  is  when  the  great  dark  mass  arises 
at  once  to  the  prayer,  or  listens  as  with  one  heart  and 
mind  to  the  exhortation.  And  no  doubt  this  general 


A  GREAT  MULTITUDE  A  SAD  SIGHT.         149 

belief  that  there  is  something  grand  and  impressive 
about  a  great  multitude  is  a  true  belief;  but  if  we  may 
draw  a  general  principle  from  the  words  you  have 
read,  there  is  something  farther  and  deeper  about  a 
great  multitude,  which  suggests  itself  less  immediate 
ly  and  less  generally.  We  are  not  told  whether  when 
Jesus  looked  upon  this  occasion  on  the  vast  crowds 
that  had  followed  him  into  the  desert,  he  was  im 
pressed  by  their  wide  extent  and  their  wave-like  un 
dulation,  and  awed  by  their  mighty  hum.  We  are 
not  told  whether  he  felt  roused  and  stirred  by  the 
thousands  of  eager  faces  that  were  bent  upon  him, 
or  whether  he  thought  to  himself  that  here  was  a 
congregation  that  was  worthy  of  even  his  best  preach 
ing.  But  one  thing  we  are  told :  that  when  he  saw 
a  great  multitude,  he  was  moved  with  compassion 
toward  them.  Nor  does  it  appear  that  there  was 
anything  peculiar  about  this  multitude  specially  to 
draw  forth  his  compassion.  He  would  have  felt 
just  as  much  pity  awakened  in  his  kind  heart  by 
the  sight  of  any  great  assemblage  of  men.  No  doubt 
there  were  sick  folk  in  that  multitude,  for  we  are  told 
that  the  Saviour  "  healed  their  sick  ; "  no  doubt  there 
were  weary  people  there,  for  they  had  "  followed  him 
on  foot,"  and  they  had  followed  him  far  ;  no  doubt 
there  were  hungry  people  among  them,  for  not  with 
out  sufficient  reason  would  our  Lord  have  multiplied 
the  loaves  and  fishes  to  keep  them  from  "  fainting  by 
the  way."  But  it  does  not  seem  that  there  was  much, 


150        A  GREAT  MULTITUDE  A  SAD  SIGHT 

if  there  was  anything,  about  that  crowd  to  make  it  a 
sadder  sight  than  any  other.  Hunger  and  weariness, 
sickness  and  sorrow,  are  not  such  uncommon  things. 
Look  at  any  great  gathering  of  human  beings,  in  any 
part  of  the  world,  and  you  may  feel  sure  that  there 
are  many  sad  hearts  there.  No,  it  was  for  no  acci 
dental  reason  that  the  Saviour  compassionated  that 
multitude.  If  Jesus  felt  moved  to  pity  in  the  sight 
of  that  crowd,  it  must  have  been  because  in  some 
sense  and  in  some  measure,  it  is  always  a  sad  sight 
to  look  upon  a  crowd  of  men.  And  what  we  wish  to 
do,  in  this  discourse,  is  to  consider  what  there  can  be 
in  the  presence  of  a  great  multitude  that  should  move 
a  kind  and  feeling  heart  to  compassion.  Why  was  it 
that  when  "  Jesus  went  forth,  and  saw  a  great  multi 
tude,  he  was  moved  with  compassion  toward  them  "  ? 

And  to  give  us  some  little  light  on  the  subject,  let 
us  call  it  to  mind  that  Christ  was  not  the  first  who  had 
felt  that  the  sight  of  a  great  number  of  men  was  sad. 
It  is  now  three-and-twenty  centuries  since  a  great 
monarch  of  the  East,  bent  upon  subjugating  an  inde 
pendent  race,  collected  together  a  force  so  large  that 
it  has  hardly  been  equalled  in  the  history  of  the  world. 
His  ships  were  ten  thousand  ;  his  soldiers  were  three 
millions.  When  this  incredible  array  was  assembled, 
the  king  desired  to  see  it  all  at  one  view ;  and  he  sat 
down,  we  read,  upon  a  throne  of  white  marble,  whence, 
stretched  along  the  shore,  he  beheld  his  fleet  and  his 
army.  I  will  tell  you  the  story  in  the  simple  words 


A  GREAT  MULTITUDE  A  SAD   SIGHT.          151 

of  the  earliest  of  secular  historians.  "  When  he  saw  the 
whole  Hellespont  concealed  beneath  the  ships,  and  all 
the  coast  of  Abydos  full  of  men,  Xerxes  held  himself 
happy;  but  soon  after  he  burst  into  tears.  This  being 
observed  by  his  paternal  uncle  Artabanus,  he,  under 
standing  that  Xerxes  was  shedding  tears,  addressed 
him  thus  :  '  Sire,  how  very  .different  are  your  present 
actions,  and  what  you  did  erewhile  !  For  then  you 
declared  yourself  happy,  and  now  you  weep.'  The 
king  answered,  '  Yes  ;  for  when  I  consider  how  short 
is  human  life,  pity  enters  my  heart ;  since  of  these, 
many  as  they  are,  every  one  will  be  dead  before  a 
hundred  years.'  "  That  Persian  monarch,  knowing  no 
immortality,  looked  abroad  over  his  millions,  gathered 
in  proud  array ;  and  he  knew  that  whatever  might  be 
their  courage  and  their  numbers,  there  was  one  quiet 
and  sure  adversary  who  would  vanquish  them  at  the 
last.  The  plains  and  the  shores  around  him  were 
warm  with  life.  Millions  of  pulses  beat ;  millions  of 
strong  hands  and  anxious  brains  were  there  ;  but 
before  a  century,  they  would  be  all  dead  and  buried 
and  forgotten.  And  at  the  thought,  even  the  selfish 
and  foolish  tyrant  wept.  He  acknowledged  by  the  act 
that  there  is  something  pitiful  to  see,  in  a  great  mul 
titude  of  men. 

The  Persian  monarch,  when  asked  why  he  wept  at 
the  sight  of  something  so  little  likely  to  move  tears 
as  a  noble  army  with  gay  banners  and  bright  arms, 
thought  he  gave  reason  sufficient  when  he  mentioned 


152         A  GREAT  MULTITUDE  A  SAD  SIGHT. 

the  shortness  of  the  life  to  which  each  individual  in 
it  was  destined.  But  the  historian  tells  us  that  the 
man  whom  he  addressed  replied  to  him,  that  he  did 
not  think  that  the  saddest  thing  in  the  lot  of  humanity. 
"  Other  woes,"  he  said,  "  yet  more  deserving  than  this 
of  commiseration,  do  we  suffer  during  life.  Indeed, 
the  calamities  that  fall  upon  us,  and  the  maladies  that 
shake  our  frames,  make  life,  short  though  it  is,  to  ap 
pear  long ;  death  therefore  becomes  the  most  desirable 
refuge  for  man."  It  was  not  that  life  was  so  short, 
but  that  it  was  so  sad,  that  the  wise  Persian  counsellor 
thought  the  true  cause  for  tears.  The  true  reason,  he 
thought,  for  looking  with  compassion  upon  a  great 
multitude,  was  rather  that  the  men  who  composed  it 
were  pressed  by  care  and  sorrow  while  they  lived,  than 
that  they  would  die  so  soon. 

But  we  may  very  well  combine  the  two  reasons  for 
pitying  human  beings  which  were  stated  by  Xerxes 
and  by  Artabanus ;  they  are  quite  consistent  each 
with  the  other  ;  and  there  is  truth  in  both  of  them. 
No  doubt, —  no  doubt,  —  it  is  a  reason  why  the  feeling 
heart  should  be  moved  with  compassion  in  the  view 
of  a  large  assemblage  of  people,  to  think  how  much 
suffering  each  of  them  must  have  gone  through ;  —  to 
look  at  the  anxious  faces,  the  thinned  hair,  the  fur 
rowed  brow,  and  to  reflect  what  weariness,  care,  dis 
appointment,  anxiety,  sorrow,  each  heart  there  must 
have  known  ;  and  no  doubt,  too,  it  is  a  reason  why 
the  feeling  heart  should  be  moved  to  compassion  in 


A   GREAT  MULTITUDE  A   SAD  SIGHT.         153 

the  view  of  a  large  assembly,  to  think  of  the  last 
solemn  scene  which  lies  before  each  of  them,  —  to 
reflect  upon  the  weariness  and  weakness,  perhaps  the 
pain  and  agony,  in  which  every  one  of  them  must 
some  day  lie  down  and  die.  And  no  doubt  such 
reasons  as  these  for  compassion  may  have  been  pres 
ent  to  the  gentle  heart  of  Jesus,  when  "  he  went 
forth,  and  saw  a  great  multitude,  and  was  moved  with 
compassion  toward  them."  We  can  well  believe  that 
the  kind  Creator  and  Saviour,  who  "  knoweth  our 
frame  "  so  well,  who  has  proved  for  himself  all  our 
sinless  infirmities,  and  who  understands  what  sore 
temptations  are  because  he  himself  has  felt  them,  — 
we  can  well  believe  that  as  he  looked  abroad  over 
that  Eastern  crowd,  which  would  have  seemed  so 
strange  to  our  eyes,  he  discerned  the  griefs,  the  cares, 
the  bereavements,  the  privations,  the  fears,  which 
were  at  home  in  each  heart ;  he  knew  that  all  these 
things  were  as  common  under  the  Eastern  sky,  and 
within  the  Eastern  dwelling,  as  they  are  now  under 
our  roofs  and  within  our  breasts ;  and  how  could  one 
so  kind  and  generous  as  the  Redeemer  look  upon 
sorrow  and  suffering  without  feeling  compassion  for 
those  who  suffered  and  sorrowed  ?  But  we  feel  quite 
sure,  that  although  Jesus,  when  he  compassionated 
the  multitude,  was  moved  to  that  feeling  by  every 
reason  which  the  eye  of  omniscience  could  see,  and 
the  heart  of  mercy  be  moved  by,  still  that  the  strong 
est  reason  for  compassion  would  be  that  which  would 
7* 


154         A  GREAT  MULTITUDE  A  SAD  SIGHT. 

touch  him  most,  and  he  would  feel  the  most  pity  for 
that  which  was  the  saddest  thing  in  the  lot  of  the 
human  souls  before  him.  And  what,  then,  was  the 
saddest  thing  in  the  lot  of  that  great  multitude?  What 
is  the  saddest  thing  in  the  lot  of  any  great  multi 
tude,  gathered  anywhere  ?  Was  Xerxes  right,  when 
lie  judged  that  it  was  that  death  is  so  near ;  was 
Artabanus  right,  when  he  judged  that  it  was  that  life 
is  so  pressed  with  cares  and  sorrows  ?  Nay,  my  friend, 
it  was  not  either  of  these  considerations  that  most 
moved  the  compassion  of  our  blessed  Lord.  It  was 
sin  rather  than  sorrow  that  he  was  thinking  of.  It 
was  not  so  much  that  the  people  were  wandering 
weary  in  the  desert,  as  that  their  souls  and  consciences 
were  without  a  guide.  It  was  not  so  much  that  they 
were  faint  for  want  of  the  bread  that  perisheth,  as 
that  they  knew  nothing  of  where  they  were  to  turn  for 
the  bread  and  the  water  of  life.  It  was  not  so  much 
that  they  were  surrounded  by  griefs  and  troubles, 
as  that  they  knew  not  how  to  seek  the  aid  of  that 
Holy  Spirit,  who  can  make  of  all  these  a  heavenly 
discipline  to  prepare  for  a  better  land.  It  was  not  so 
much  that  they  were  hourly  drawing  nearer  to  death, 
as  that  they  were  deep  in  darkness  about  a  glorious 
life  and  immortality  beyond  the  grave.  And  in  say 
ing  all  this,  —  in  asserting  that  such  were  the  main 
and  principal  reasons,  if  not  the  only  ones,  of  Christ's 
compassion  for  the  multitude,  —  we  are  not  speaking 
without  due  authority.  True,  in  the  story  as  related 


A  GREAT  MULTITUDE  A  SAD  SIGHT.         155 

by  St.  Matthew,  we  are  not  told  what  were  the  reasons 
why  the  Saviour  felt  compassion  ;  but,  as  you  know, 
what  is  omitted  by  one  evangelist  is  often  supplied  by 
another ;  and  when  we  turn  to  the  parallel  passage  in 
the  Gospel  of  St.  Mark,  we  find  not  merely  the  fact 
of  Christ's  feeling  pity  recorded,  but  the  reason  why 
he  felt  pity  expressly  stated.  It  is  a  striking  contrast 
to  the  reasons  for  that  feeling  which  Xerxes  and  Ar- 
tabanus  gave  ;  it  is  a  reason  that  goes  far  deeper,  and 
that  means  far  more.  St.  Mark  tells  us,*  "  And  Jesus, 
when  he  came  out,  saw  much  people,  and  was  moved 
with  compassion  toward  them,  because  they  were  as 
sheep  not  having  a  shepherd."  So  here  was  Christ's 
reason  for  feeling  compassion.  It  was  because  the 
people  were  in  spiritual  blindness  and  ignorance.  It 
was  because  they  did  not  feel  the  burden  of  their  sins, 
and  had  no  one  to  point  them  to  the  only  Saviour  of 
sinners.  It  was  because  in  sinfulness  they  knew  not 
where  to  go  for  pardon  and  purity ;  it  was  because  in 
sorrow  they  knew  not  where  to  go  for  comfort ;  in 
weakness  where  to  go  for  strength  ;  in  death  where  to 
go  for  life  ;  in  dying  where  to  look  for  immortality. 
It  was,  in  short,  their  spiritual  destitution  that  Christ 
regarded  as  the  saddest  and  most  pity-moving  thing 
about  that  multitude.  It  was  for  that  he  felt  the  deep 
est  compassion.  It  was  the  soul's  disease  that  most 
touched  the  kind  Physician  of  souls.  It  was  the  soul's 
darkness  that  looked  saddest  to  him  that  came  to  be 
*  Chapter  vi.  34. 


156         A  GREAT  MULTITUDE  A  SAD  SIGHT. 

the  Light  of  the  world.  It  was  the  soul's  thirst  and 
hunger  that  seemed  most  urgent  to  him  whose  flesh 
was  yet  to  be  meat  indeed,  and  whose  blood  drink  in 
deed,  the  bread  and  the  water  of  life  for  the  nourish 
ment  of  our  immortal  part.  And  so  the  great  reason 
why  our  Saviour  felt  compassion  in  the  sight  of  that 
great  assemblage  was,  that  there  were  among  it  so 
many  sinful  souls.  The  great  reason  why  our  Re 
deemer  would  even  yet  feel  compassion  in  the  sight 
of  any  great  assemblage  of  human  beings  is,  that  it  is 
made  up  of  sinful  souls.  Ah  !  he  knows,  as  we  can 
not  know,  what  is  meant  by  sin !  He  knows  how  evil 
and  foul  it  is  in  itself;  he  knows  all  that  follows  from 
it,  —  all  that  it  ends  in  !  He  knows  that  this  is  the 
root  whence  all  sorrow  and  suffering  spring.  He 
knows  that  if  there  be  death  in  this  world,  death  is 
the  wages  of  sin.  He  knows  that  if  there  be  care,* 
anxiety,  disappointment,  pain,  anguish,  bereavement, 
in  this  world,  they  are  all  the  result  of  sin.  And  so 
Christ's  reason  for  feeling  compassion  in  the  presence 
of  a  multitude  is  one  which  includes  in  it  all  other 
reasons.  It  has  within  itself  the  ground  of  the  Per 
sian  counsellor's  sad  estimate  of  life,  and  the  ground 
of  the  Persian  monarch's  tears.  All  that  ever  has 
wrung  the  kind  heart,  —  all  that  ever  has  darkened 
the  comprehensive  view,  —  every  reason  for  pitying 
poor  human  nature  that  ever  was  thought  of,  —  all 
are  gathered  up  in  the  reason  which  the  evangelist 
gives  us  for  the  compassion  of  our  blessed  Lord,  — 


A  GREAT   MULTITUDE  A   SAD   SIGHT.         157 

who,  when  lie  saw  a  great  multitude,  "  was  moved 
with  compassion  toward  them,"  "  because  they  were 
as  sheep  not  having  a  shepherd."  Sinful,  sorrowful, 
dying  ;  yet  knowing  not  where  to  go  ;  wearied  with  this 
troublesome  life  ;  yet  clinging  to  it  because  they  knew 
of  no  better  ;  orphan  children,  lost  sheep,  strangers 
and  pilgrims  on  the  earth,  they  had  yet  been  guided 
to  the  right  place  for  once,  when  thus  they  came  to 
the  feet  of  the  Saviour. 

Let  me  ask  you  to  observe,  my  friends,  that  the 
Redeemer's  reason  for  compassionating  the  great  mul 
titude  is  a  reason  of  universal  application.  It  was  a 
reason  for  feeling  compassion  for  that  assemblage  that 
day  in  Palestine  ;  it  is  a  reason  for  feeling  compassion 
for  any  assemblage  anywhere.  Christ's  pity  was  not 
moved  by  any  of  those  accidental  and  temporary 
causes  which  exist  at  some  times  and  in  some  places 
and  not  elsewhere.  No  ;  sinfulness,  and  the  need  of 
a  Saviour,  are  things  which  press,  whether  felt  or 
not,  upon  all  human  beings.  If  Christ  were  to  look 
upon  you,  my  friend,  to-day,  be  sure  he  would  look 
upon  you  with  compassion.  Many  and  great  are  the 
differences  between  you  and  the  people  who  are 
spoken  of  in  the  text.  You  speak  a  different  lan 
guage  ;  you  wrear  a  different  garb  ;  you  live  in  a  dis 
tant  land ;  but  oh !  you  are  the  same  in  being  stricken 
with  that  disease  which  only  Christ's  blood  can  wash 
away.  We  are  all  by  ourselves  like  lost  sheep,  wan- 


158         A  GREAT  MULTITUDE  A  SAD  SIGHT. 

dering  without  a  shepherd  ;  we  all  need  to  be  brought 
back  from  our  wanderings  into  the  fold  of  the  Good 
Shepherd  of  souls.  But  how  much  easier  it  is  to  con 
fess  this  with  the  lips  than  to  feel  it  in  the  heart !  Oh 
that  God's  Spirit  might  so  effectually  convince  us  all 
of  our  sinfulness,  that  we  might  deeply  feel  that  the 
first  and  most  pressing  need  of  our  nature,  is  the  need 
of  a  share  in  the  great  atonement  of  Christ !  May  we 
feel  that  that  is  more  to  us  than  water  to  the  thirsty, 
than  food  to  the  hungry ;  —  in  very  deed  the  most 
urgent  of  all  the  "  necessaries  of  life."  For  that  spir 
itual  malady  of  sin  from  which  the  Great  Physician 
alone  can  save  us  is  one  that  is  wide  as  the  human 
race.  Ah,  he  sees  in  it  the  weightiest  reason  for  com 
passionating  any  mortal,  through  every  stage  of  his 
existence,  —  from  the  first  quiet  slumber  in  the  cradle, 
to  the  rigid  silence  in  the  shroud. 

Let  me  ask  you  also  to  observe,  that  the  Redeem 
er's  reason  for  feeling  compassion  toward  the  multitude 
was  the  strongest  reason  for  doing  so.  One  man,  we 
have  seen,  said  that  death  was  the  saddest  thing  in  the 
lot  of  humanity  ;  another  said  that  the  griefs  and  cares 
of  life  were  sadder  still ;  but  Jesus  fixes  upon  that 
which  is  the  source  and  origin  of  both.  He  fixes,  as 
the  saddest  thing,  upon  that  which  "  brought  death 
into  the^  world,  and  all  our  woe."  And  when  we  just 
think  what  sin  is,  and  what  sin  tends  to,  we  cannot  but 
feel  how  rightly  the  Saviour  judged.  For  sin  is  indeed 


A  GREAT  MULTITUDE  A  SAD  SIGHT.        159 

man's  sorest  disease,  and  man's  greatest  unhappiness. 
It  means  that  man,  the  creature,  is  at  enmity  with  the 
Creator ;  that  man,  the  child,  has  rebelled  against  his 
Father  in  heaven.  It  means,  that  whereas,  when 
things  are  right,  all  happiness  consists  in  nearness 
to  God,  and  in  God's  favor  and  friendship,  man  has 
now  brought  himself  to  this,  that  he  shrinks  away  in 
dismay  and  dislike  from  God  ;  —  that  he  only  feels  it 
terrible  and  distressing  to  remember  that  there  is  a 
God  ;  —  and  that  he  feels  communion  with  God  in 
prayer  a  weary  and  irksome  task,  by  all  means  to  be 
avoided.  Sin  means  that  God's  handiwork  is  ruined  ; 
that  God's  creation  is  defaced ;  that  God's  glory  is 
tarnished  ;  that  God's  purposes  are  frustrated  ;  all  so 
far  as  such  things  can  be.  And  sin,  if  unpardoned, 
tends  to  death,  —  death  spiritual  and  eternal.  A  sin 
ful  soul  is  a  soul  stricken  with  the  worst  of  diseases, 
leading  to  the  most  awful  of  deaths.  Unpardoned  sin 
leads  to  endless  misery ;  and  when  Jesus  looks  upon 
a  soul  going  on  in  sin,  he  sees  at  a  glance  all  the  ruin 
and  despair  to  which,  if  unchanged  from  above,  it  is 
advancing.  And  O  brethren,  can  you  think  of  a  con 
dition  so  sad,  and  so  fitted  to  excite  compassion  in  a 
Being  who  is  all  kindness  and  mercy,  and  who  sees 
things  as  they  truly  are  ?  Surely,  surely,  if  we  saw 
things  right,  we  should  see  that  a  soul  going  on  in 
unrepented  sin,  and  rejecting  the  Saviour's  offered 
grace,  is  in  the  very  saddest  plight  in  which  an  im 
mortal  being  can  ever  be.  He  may  be  gay  and 


160         A  GREAT  MULTITUDE  A  SAD  SIGHT. 

thoughtless  now  ;  he  may  never  think  of  the  doom 
that  hangs  over  him  ;  he  may  be  surrounded  with 
earthly  comforts  ;  and  many  a  one  may  envy  him  ; 
but  in  very  deed,  he  is  in  a  pitiable  and  wretched 
state.  You  feel  compassion  for  the  poor  consumptive, 
whose  hectic  cheek  tells  you  that  the  malady  is  at 
work  which  will  lay  him  in  his  grave.  And  why  do 
you  feel  compassion  ?  It  is  not  that  he  is  suffering  so 
very  much  now.  Many  a  person,  affected  by  some 
passing  pain  which  we  hardly  think  of  seriously  sym 
pathizing  with,  is  suffering  perhaps  twenty  times  as 
much.  But  we  feel  compassion,  because  we  look  for 
ward,  and  remember  to  what  end  the  slow  decline  is 
going  forward.  We  remember  that  the  headache 
goes,  and  leaves  the  man  none  the  worse  ;  but  the 
consumption  kills.  And  it  is  the  serious  ending  that 
makes  us  think  the  disease  serious,  even  in  those  early 
stages  when  it  is  causing  little  pain.  It  is  because  sin 
ends  in  eternal  woe,  that  it  is  so  dreadful  a  malady, 
even  while  the  soul  that  is  stricken  with  it  is  cheerful 
and  gay.  It  was  because  Christ  looked  on  into  the 
unseen  world,  and  discerned  the  wrath  in  which  sin 
unpardoned  would  land  the  soul,  that  he  felt  so  deep 
a  compassion  as  he  looked  on  the  great  multitude 
gathered  in  the  Eastern  desert.  And  just  as  ruinous 
as  sin  was  then,  sin  is  yet.  This  is  a  disease  which 
has  never  worn  itself  out,  as  it  came  down  to  us 
through  successive  generations.  It  has  lost  nothing 
of  its  ancient  poison,  nothing  of  its  power  to  bring 


A  GREAT  MULTITUDE  A  SAD  SIGHT.         161 

down  to  death.  Blessed  be  God,  it  is  the  most  tract 
able  and  easily  managed  of  all  diseases,  in  the  hands 
of  the  Great  Physician  of  souls  !  There  is  a  remedy 
for  it  which  never  can  fail.  It  has  healed  millions  of 
sufferers  ;  and  it  can  heal  each  of  us.  "  The  blood  of 
Jesus  Christ  cleanseth  from  all  sin  ! " 

Let  me  ask  you  further  to  observe,  that  if  Jesus 
thought  the  sight  of  a  great  multitude  a  sad  sight,  —  if 
he  could  not  look  upon  the  multitude  but  with  com 
passion,  —  it  must  have  been  because  he  could  not 
look  but  with  compassion  on  each  individual  soul  in 
the  multitude.  And  as  that  multitude  was,  so  far  as 
regards  the  circumstances  which  moved  Christ's  pity, 
a  fair  sample  of  the  human  race,  it  follows  that  Christ 
feels  that  there  is  something  for  him  to  pity  as  he 
looks  on  each  of  us,  —  on  each  separate  human  being. 
Oh,  how  it  cuts  down  pride,  to  remember  this !  To 
remember  that  when  that  Being  who  cannot  go  wrong 
in  his  estimate  of  us,  looks  upon  you  and  me,  —  what 
ever  we  may  think  of  ourselves,  —  he  feels  compassion 
for  USj  —  he  feels  sorry  for  us  !  Surely  it  is  a  lowly 
thing  to  be  a  sinful  human  being !  How  it  pours 
contempt  upon  human  self-sufficiency,  to  think  that 
when  Christ  looks  down  upon  the  man  of  highest  rank, 
and  greatest  wealth,  and  most  extended  power,  — 
one  before  whom  his  fellow-creatures  grovel,  —  one 
who  carries  a  high  head  and  a  proud  heart,  —  Christ 
sees  in  him  only  a  poor,  helpless  creature,  to  be  pitied, 


162        A  GREAT  MULTITUDE  A  SAD  SIGHT. 

to  be  relieved  !  There  are  few  things  that  people  like 
less,  at  least  after  they  have  grown  up  to  maturity, 
than  to  be  pitied.  They  think  there  is  something  poor 
and  contemptible  about  that.  And  this  opinion  has 
grown  into  the  very  construction  of  our  language. 
We  say  that  a  thing  is  pitiable,  when  we  desire  to 
ascribe  to  it  all  that  is  low  and  contemptible.  You 
cannot  say  worse  of  a  man,  than  to  say  that  he  is  a 
pitiful  creature ;  unless  indeed  it  be  to  say  that  he 
is  a  poor  creature,  which  means  much  the  same  thing. 
Well,  then,  my  friend,  just  remember  this,  whenever 
you  feel  any  tendency  to  a  haughty  spirit, — whenever 
you  feel  any  disposition  to  talk  big,  and  look  big,  and 
speak  about  your  position,  and  your  influence,  and 
what  you  are  entitled  to, — just  remember  this,  that 
Christ  thinks  us  all  poor  creatures,  —  pitiable  beings, 
—  beggars  needing  alms,  —  fever-stricken  patients 
needing  the  physician,  —  helpless,  hopeless,  unworthy 
sinners,  deserving  of  the  deepest  compassion  because 
we  are  so  devoid  of  help  or  hope.  How  humble  we 
ought  to  be  when  we  draw  near  to  God ;  with  how 
lowly  a  countenance  ought  we  to  address  our  fellow- 
men  ;  how  carefully  we  should  avoid  the  least  ap 
pearance  of  anything  overbearing,  or  tyrannical,  or 
haughty !  The  Bible  tells  us,  as  you  all  know,  that 
pride  is  especially  hateful  to  God.  "  God  resisteth 
the  proud,  and  giveth  grace  to  the  humble."  "An 
high  look,  and  a  proud  heart,"  said  the  wisest  of  men, 
"  is  sin."  *  And  what  wonder  that  it  should  be  so  ? 
*  Prov.  xxi.  4. 


A  GREAT  MULTITUDE  A  SAD  SIGHT.         163 

Is  it  not  something  besides  sin  ;  is  it  not  the  most 
outrageous  folly  ?  A  poor  creature,  the  object  of 
Christ's  kind  compassion,  —  and  fancying  to  himself 
how  great  and  influential  and  dignified  a  person  he 
is  !  —  Oh,  my  brother,  let  us  be  humble  !  Let  us  be 
clothed  with  humility.  It  is  the  right  frame  of  spirit 
for  beings  such  as  you  and  rne.  Let  us  go  humbly  to 
the  foot  of  the  cross  ;  and  feeling  our  helplessness, 
let  us  patiently  wait  till  the  kind  Saviour  shall  look 
upon  us  with  compassion,  and  take  away  our  -sins. 
We  will  admit  no  lingering  trace  of  pride  or  self- 
righteousness  :  "  After  his  loving-kindness,  according 
to  the  multitude  of  his  tender  mercies,"  may  he  "  blot 
out  our  transgressions,  and  remember  our  iniquities 
no  more."  "  Like  as  a  father  pitieth  his  children,"  so 
may  the  Lord  pity  and  compassionate  us  in  all  our 
sins.  And  take  comfort  from  the  gracious  words  of 
comfort  to  the  humble-minded :  "  For  thus  saith  the 
high  and  lofty  One  that  inhabiteth  eternity,  whose 
name  is  Holy  ;  I  dwell  in  the  high  and  holy  place, 
with  him  also  that  is  of  a  contrite  and  humble  spirit, 
to  revive  the  spirit  of  the  humble,  and  to  revive  the 
heart  of  the  contrite  ones." 

Yes,  my  friends,  there  is  nothing  degrading  in  bow 
ing  humbly,  as  sinful  creatures,  in  the  presence  of  our 
Maker,  and  in  beseeching  his  kind  compassion  and 
his  pardoning  grace.  There  is  no  degradation  in 
being  compassionated  by  Almighty  God ;  nor  in  being 
received  as  penitent  sinners  by  that  Best  Judge  of  what 


164         A  GREAT  MULTITUDE  A  SAD  SIGHT. 

is  fit  and  becoming  in  human  conduct,  who  looked  with 
anger  on  the  self-righteous  Pharisee,  and  with  approval 
upon  the  humble  publican,  standing  far  away  with 
downcast  eyes,  and  smiting  upon  his  breast.  It  is  a 
painful  thing,  and  when  it  can  be  avoided  it  is  a  poor 
thing,  to  seek  compassion  from  any  human  being  be 
yond  the  circle  of  our  nearest  kin.  We  despise  the 
man  who  is  always  grumbling  and  complaining  to 
strangers  about  his  griefs  and  troubles,  whether  these 
are  great  or  small.  We  despise  the  man  who  is  thus 
always  seeking  to  excite  compassion  by  hawking  about 
the  story  of  his  ills,  and  always  harping  upon  that  te 
dious  string.  No ;  beyond  the  limit  of  nearest  blood, 
let  a  man  keep  his  troubles  to  himself.  He  may  feel 
assured  that  his  best  friend  will  grow  weary  of  hearing 
about  them  ;  he  may  be  sure  that  the  pity  accorded  to 
him  will  be  in  most  cases  mingled  with  something  of 
contempt.  Deception,  of  course,  is  never  a  right  thing ; 
but  we  are  not  required  to  wear  our  heart  upon  our 
sleeve  ;  and  ever  since  the  days  of  that  stern  Spartan 
youth  who  kept  a  composed  look  while  the  savage  beast 
was  at  his  vitals,  men  have  felt  that  there  is  something 
sublime  in  the  unflinching  resolution  that  waves  off 
the  stranger's  sympathy,  and  that  shows  the  world  a 
firm  face  when  the  heart  is  weary  and  weak.  But  oh ! 
when  we  turn  to  Jesus,  who  can  read  our  inmost  soul, 
—  when  we  turn  to  him,  who  never  will  upbraid  us  or 
despise  us,  though  we  make  bare  to  him  every  poor 
weakness,  every  sorrow,  and  every  sin  about  us,  —  we 


A  GREAT  MULTITUDE  A  SAD  SIGHT.          165 

feel  that  the  need  for  that  reserve  is  gone,  and  that  it 
is  no  shame  nor  humiliation  to  tell  out  to  him  all  we 
fear  and  suffer,  with  the  same  abandonment  with  which 
the  little  child  sobs  out  the  story  of  its  little  sorrows 
at  a  kind  mother's  knee.  At  the  throne  of  grace,  the 
man  who,  whatever  he  suffered,  would  never  complain 
to  mortal,  may  without  reserve  lay  before  the  Re 
deemer  the  tale  of  his  wants  and  woes.  Ah,  the 
dumb  spirit  that  would  dissemble  and  cloak  its  sins 
even  before  the  heart-searching  God,  —  that  is  one  of 
the  saddest  symptoms  of  the  soul's  worst  disease ! 
Simple  confession  of  sin  to  God  is  a  part  of  true  con 
trition  ;  and  if  we  go  to  God  with  the  humble  desire 
to  confess  our  sins  with  a  penitent  and  lowly  heart,  he 
will  be  ready  to  help  us  out  with  the  sad  recital,  to 
anticipate  our  imperfect  words,  and  interpret  our  con 
trite  tears.  "If  we  confess  our  sins,  he  is  faithful 
and  just  to  forgive  us  our  sins,  and  to  cleanse  us  from 
all  unrighteousness." 

And  thus,  my  friend,  we  have  meditated  for  a  little 
upon  St.  Matthew's  declaration,  that  Christ  found 
something  in  the  sight  of  a  great  multitude  to  move 
his  compassion  ;  we  have  sought  to  discover  what  it 
was  about  the  multitude  that  made  it  a  sad  sight  for 
Christ  to  see ;  and  we  have  sought  to  draw  some 
lessons  from  the  conclusion  to  which  we  came.  It 
was  that  the  Physician  of  souls  saw  in  that  multitude 
an  assemblage  of  souls  diseased ;  it  was  that  he  saw 


166        A  GREAT  MULTITUDE  A  SAD  SIGHT. 

before  him  souls  stricken  with  that  worst  of  maladies, 
sin  ;  souls  doomed,  unless  that  disease  was  checked, 
to  be  drawn  down  by  it  to  eternal  death  and  woe. 
He  felt  compassion  for  that  multitude,  because  he 
saw  in  it  a  host  of  immortal  beings  in  the  very  sad 
dest  and  sorest  plight  in  which  immortal  beings  could 
ever  be.  It  is  a  sad  and  a  sore  sight,  when  some 
young  one,  smitten  by  wasting  disease,  is  bidden,  as 
the  last  faint  hope,  to  leave  the  home  of  childhood, 
arid  to  seek  some  milder  clime,  whose  balmy  breezes 
may  perhaps  fan  the  cheek  to  the  glow  of  health  once 
more  ;  and  we  can  think  of  few  things  more  affect 
ing  than  the  last  parting  from  parents  and  brothers 
and  sisters,  whose  foreboding  looks  and  sighs  tell 
that  they  know  that  death  may  be  delayed  but  not 
averted ;  that  the  sunbeams  of  Italy  will  smite  in 
vain,  and  its  climate  can  work  no  cure.  And  we  can 
think  of  few  things  more  sad  than  of  that  young  exile, 
fading  day  by  day  in  a  foreign  land ;  and  pining, 
amid  myrtle  groves  and  glorious  skies,  for  the  well- 
remembered  trees  and  sunsets  far  away  at  home. 
But  if  we  saw  things  right,  we  should  see  a  sadder 
sight  in  many  a  one  who  is  a  parent's  pride  and 
hope  ;  we  should  see  something  that  angels  might 
weep  over  in  the  gay,  thoughtless  worldling  that  lives 
and  acts  in  the  forgetfulness  of  a  Saviour  and  a  life  to 
come.  For  a  direr  malady  is  sapping  that  young 
life  ;  a  more  deadly  disease  is  wasting  there.  Yes, 
the  compassion  that  Jesus  felt  for  that  multitude  of 


A  GREAT  MULTITUDE  A  SAD  SIGHT.         167 

common  human  beings,  was  just  a  little  out-welling  of 
that  same  kind  and  gracious  compassion  which  had 
brought  him  to  this  earth  at  all !  What  was  it  that 
made  the  Son  of  God  leave  the  glory  and  the  bright 
ness  of  heaven,  and  come  down  to  this  world,  and 
suffer,  and  die,  —  what  was  it,  but  that  looking  upon 
this  world,  he  "  beheld  a  great  multitude,  and  had 
compassion  on  it,"  —  he  saw  the  human  race  infected 
with  the  leprosy  of  sin,  —  smitten  with  the  disease 
that  ends  in  ruin,  —  and  came  to  seek  and  save  !  Oh, 
may  he  remember  now,  when  the  travail  of  his  soul 
is  past,  that  it  was  for  us  it  was  endured  !  As  for  us, 
may  he  not  have  died  in  vain  !  And  if,  when  he 
looks  down  on  us  to-day,  his  kind  compassion  is  stirred 
by  the  sight  of  sorrowful  hearts,  we  ask  that  he  may 
comfort  them ;  but  forasmuch  as  we  know  and  are 
sure  that  when  he  looks  upon  us,  his  compassion  must 
be  stirred  by  the  sight  of  an  evil  that  is  worse  than 
sorrow,  we  would  yet  more  earnestly  ask  that  he  would 
take  away  all  iniquity,  and  receive  us  graciously,  and 
blot  out  all  our  sins ! 


X. 

THE  RULING  OF  THE  SPIRIT. 

"  Better  is  he  that  ruleth  his  spirit,  than  he  that  taketh  a  city." 
PROV.  xvi.  32. 

fys&  VERY  one  knows,  and  the  most  thought 
less  can  understand,  that  to  carry  a  very 
heavy  load  for  a  mile,  is  hard  work ;  or 
that  to  go  through  a  long  day's  plough 
ing,  is  hard  work ;  but  not  every  person  is  able  to  un 
derstand  and  to  take  it  in,  that  the  things  which  cost 
a  man  the  greatest  effort  and  the  hardest  work  that  he 
ever  goes  through  in  all  his  life,  may  be  done  with  no 
bodily  exertion  at  all ;  may  be  done  as  he  sits  in  an 
easy-chair  with  his  eyes  shut.  Here  is  one  great  dif 
ference  between  the  civilized  man  and  the  savage :  a 
great  part  of  the  work  of  the  civilized  man  consists  of 
that  which  the  savage  would  not  regard  as  work  at  all. 
But  every  thoughtful  person  knows  that  the  hardest 
of  all  work  is  that  which  puts  the  soul  upon  the 
stretch,  though  it  may  leave  the  body  at  rest ;  and 
that  there  is  no  wear  like  the  wear  of  heart  and  brain. 
And  all  this  wear  and  exertion  may  be  without  any 
outward  sign,  without  any  bodily  effort,  without  any 


THE  RULING  OF   THE  SPIRIT.  1GO 

of  that  which  the  uncivilized  man  would  understand 
by  work*  I  dare  say  St.  Paul  never  spent  days  of 
harder  work  in  all  his  life  than  the  days  he  spent  at 
Damascus  lying  blind  upon  his  bed,  struggling  to  get 
free  from  the  prejudices  and  convictions  of  all  his  past 
years,  and  resolving  upon  the  course  he  would  pursue 
in  the  years  to  come.  Some  of  you,  no  doubt,  have 
heard  of  that  great  English  engineer  who,  when  he 
was  perplexed  how  to  manage  the  construction  of 
some  new  and  intricate  piece  of  machinery,  would 
remain  for  days  together  in  a  darkened  room,  hardly 
stirring  from  one  attitude,  with  his  mind  all  the  while 
strained  to  the  top  of  its  bent,  till  he  had  struggled 
through  the  difficulty,  and  had  the  whole  plan  of  the 
machine  clearly  before  his  view.  What  tremendous 
work  he  went  through  in  these  days !  But  a  stupid, 
ignorant  person,  if  told  that  the  great  engineer  had 
lain  upon  his  bed  without  moving  for  three  whole  days, 
in  a  dark  room,  would  very  likely  have  said,  What  a 
lazy  man  that  must  be  !  Here  he  has  spent  these 
days,  and  done  nothing  !  Done  nothing !  we  might 
reply  ;  you  cannot  tell  what  wearing,  perplexing, 
bewildering  drudgery  he  has  undergone  ! 

Now,  my  friends,  the  words  you  have  read  point 
us  to  an  enterprise  which  makes  no  outward  show ; 
and  boldly  tell  us  that  it  is  a  better  and  nobler  thing 
to  accomplish  that,  than  even  to  carry  out  another 
enterprise  of  the  most  showy  and  glaring  kind.  The 
text  points  out  to  us  a  certain  work,  very  difficult  to 
8 


170  THE  RULING  OF  THE  SPIRIT. 

do,  very  noble  when  done,  which  yet  is  done  with  so 
little  outward  appearance  or  physical  effort,  that  some 
might  perhaps  fancy  that  it  is  no  work  at  all.  Every 
one  knows  that  he  must  be  a  skilful  and  a  brave  man 
who  takes  a  guarded  and  fortified  city.  There  must 
be  much  skill  to  devise  the  assault,  —  much  bravery 
and  exertion  to  carry  it  out.  There  is  unmistakable 
work  in  sapping  a  way  towards  the  beleaguered  ram 
parts,  in  bridging  over  the  deep  moat,  in  shaking 
down  the  massive  battlements ;  there  are  effort  and 
daring  needed  for  the  final  rush  through  the  deadly 
breach,  in  the  face  of  desperate  foes,  —  for  the  hand- 
to-hand  encounter,  with  its  blood  and  din,  till  the 
central  citadel  is  stormed,  and  the  "  city  taken "  at 
last.  But  the  inspired  writer  is  not  afraid  to  set 
before  us  a  companion-picture,  and  bid  us  contrast  the 
two.  He  bids  us  turn  away  from  the  noisy  triumph  and 
the  crowned  conqueror  ;  and  he  points  us  to  a  nobler 
and  a  "  better "  man.  He  bids  us  turn  away  from 
that  wild  exhibition  of  desperate  energy;  and  he 
points  us  to  a  quiet  labor  that  tasks  yet  more  heavily 
all  that  is  noblest  in  human  beings.  "  Better,"  he 
says,  "  better  is  he  that  ruleth  his  spirit,  than  he  that 
taketh  a  city  !  " 

Now,  my  friends,  every  one  of  you  who  has  sought 
to  believe  in  the  Saviour,  and,  by  the  Holy  Spirit  aid 
ing  you,  to  lead  a  Christian  life,  must  have  learned  by 
experience  how  great  a  part  of  the  work  of  an  im 
mortal  being  is  mental  work,  is  work  that  makes  no 


THE  RULING  OF  THE  SPIRIT.  171 

bodily  show,  is  work  done  by  the  soul  without  any 
corresponding  exertion  of  the  body.  And  I  am  not 
thinking  now  of  head-work  merely,  as  contrasted  with 
hand-work.  Of  course,  the  man  who  sits  at  his  study- 
table,  writing  his  book  or  his  sermon,  is  working  very 
hard  ;  the  judge  who  sits  in  his  easy-chair  weighing 
the  merits  of  the  case  which  has  been  argued  before 
him,  and  making  up  his  mind  what  his  judgment 
ought  to  be,  is  working  very  hard  ;  far  harder  than 
the  mason  building  his  wall,  or  the  ploughman  follow 
ing  his  team.  But  I  am  not  thinking  now  of  merely 
intellectual  effort ;  I  am  thinking  of  the  exertion  of 
the  whole  spiritual  nature,  —  of  intellectual,  moral, 
and  spiritual  effort,  without  bodily  ;  and  I  say  that  all 
Christian  people  must  know,  that  the  most  important 
work  and  labor  which  immortal  beings  ever  can  do,  is 
of  that  kind.  We  have  to  "  work  out  our  salvation  ;  " 
but  the  work  is  mainly  to  be  done  by  the  unseen  ex 
ertion  of  the  invisible  soul.  We  have  to  "  strive  to 
enter  in  at  the  strait  gate ;  "  we  have  to  "  labor  to  en 
ter  into  rest ; "  but  the  laboring  and  striving  are  all 
spiritual  and  not  bodily.  We  have  to  repent ;  and  it 
is  not  an  easy  thing  to  repent ;  but  the  strain  to  do  it 
comes  upon  the  soul.  We  have  to  believe  ;  and  it  is 
difficult  to  believe  ;  but  when  we  go  to  God,  and  seek 
to  believe,  and  pray  for  grace  to  "help  our  unbelief,"  it 
is  the  soul  that  goes  and  strives  and  prays.  Our  en 
tire  spiritual  life  ;  the  entire  path  which  we  trust  is  to 
lead  us  to  glory ;  is,  in  one  sense,  a  "  ruling  of  our 


172  THE  RULING  OF  THE  SPIRIT. 

spirit ; "  the  idea  of  unseen  exertions,  of  spiritual 
strivings  and  efforts,  is  one  with  which  all  believers 
are  perfectly  familiar.  And  that  is  the  idea  which  the 
wisest  of  men  sets  before  us  in  this  text. 

Of  course,  when  the  inspired  writer  tells  us  that 
"  better  is  he  that  ruleth  his  spirit,  than  he  that  taketh 
a  city  ; "  he  teaches  us  that  to  rule  our  spirit  rightly  is 
a  difficult  thing,  and  a  thing  from  rightly  doing  which 
great  and  valuable  results  are  to  follow.  And  all  this 
is  as  much  as  to  say,  that  within  the  heart  of  every 
man  there  are  many  unruly  tendencies  ;  many  im 
pulses  to  do  and  to  think  and  to  feel  wrong.  There 
is  a  great  deal  in  every  human  soul  that  needs  to  be 
kept  down.  If  man's  spirit  were  always  ready  to  do 
right,  it  would  need  no  ruling,  or  the  ruling  would  be 
a  very  easy  thing.  But  as  it  is,  it  is  very  difficult.  It 
is  very  difficult  to  hold  the  path  of  duty,  because  there 
is  so  much  within  us  that  tends  to  lead  us  astray  from 
it.  And  so  long  as  we  live  in  a  fallen  world,  crowded 
with  temptations  and  snares  ;  so  long  as  we  bear  a 
fallen  nature,  whose  whole  bent  is  towards  evil  rather 
than  good,  towards  earth  rather  than  heaven,  towards 
the  creature  rather  than  the  Creator  ;  so  long  will  the 
ruling  of  man's  spirit  be  man's  hardest  and  longest- 
lasting  work  ;  a  work  which  no  one  who  would  not 
drift  to  degradation  and  perdition  can  avoid  ;  yea,  a 
work  which  but  for  the  aid  of  God's  grace  and  God's 
Blessed  Spirit  would  foil  and  baffle  and  weary  out  the 
stoutest-hearted  ! 


THE  RULIXG  OF  THE  SPIRIT.  173 

And  now,  looking  more  closely  into  the  details  of 
this  solemn  and  most  practical  subject,  let  us  think 
what  are  the  things  about  our  spiritual  nature  that 
stand  especially  in  need  of  ruling.  And  we  may  ar 
range  the  evil  impulses  which  in  ruling  our  spirit  we 
have  to  resist,  under  the  two  heads  of  Impulses  to 
think  and  feel  wrong  ;  and  Impulses  to  do  wrong. 

Let  us  look,  in  the  first  place,  at  those  tendencies 
and  leanings  in  our  spiritual  nature  which  would  lead 
to  think  and  feel  wrong. 

And  this  head  of  our  subject,  my  friends,  includes  a 
vast  field ;  and  takes  in  little  impulses,  which  to  resist 
is  no  more  than  matter  of  worldly  prudence  ;  as  well 
as  grander  temptations,  to  resist  which  is  of  the  very 
essence  of  religion.  If  you  look  to  the  former  clause 
of  the  verse  in  which  the  text  stands,  you  will  see  that 
the  special  thing  which  the  wise  man  had  in  view, 
•when  he  spoke  of  ruling  the  spirit,  was  the  keeping 
down  of  an  evil  feeling ;  he  says,  "  He  that  is  slow  to 
anger  is  better  than  the  mighty."  He  teaches  us  that 
it  is  a  noble  thing  to  hold  in  check  this  one  bad 
tendency  of  anger,  whether  it  may  manifest  itself  in 
fretfulness,  or  in  sullenness,  or  in  violent  outbursts  of 
passion.  It  is  in  some  men,  no  doubt,  in  a  larger 
degree  than  in  others,  this  bad  tendency  ;  some  have 
a  native  amiability  and  sweetness  of  temper  that 
makes  it  easy  for  them  in  this  respect  to  "  rule  their 
spirit ; "  but  there  is  none  who  will  not  sometimes  be 
called  on  to  do  it ;  and  remember  this,  that  for  any 


174  THE  RULING  OF  THE  SPIRIT. 

of  you  to  give  way  to  little  spurts  of  petulance,  or 
fretfulness,  or  general  ill- temper,  is  not,  as  you  may 
think  it,  a  small  matter  ;  it  is  a  symptom  that  some 
thing  is  amiss  in  your  Christian  character ;  that  you 
are  failing  by  God's  grace  to  resist  "  the  sin  that  doth 
most  easily  beset  you  ;  "  that  you  are  not  striving  by 
God's  grace  to  "  rule  your  spirit  "  as  you  ought.  It 
is  like  the  little  leak  which  may  make  the  gallant  ship 
go  down.  I  need  not  suggest  how  sadly  this  evil  ten 
dency  in  those  who  yet,  as  we  would  trust,  have  the 
root  of  the  matter  in  them,  goes  to  keep  them  from 
being  epistles  in  commendation  of  their  Saviour's 
cause,  —  goes  to  make  them  into  stumbling-blocks  and 
causes  of  offence.  The  sullen  humors  or  the  peevish 
outbursts  of  a  professing  Christian  are  not  small  mat 
ters,  if  they  go  to  fix  in  the  minds  of  the  young  a 
disagreeable  and  painful  idea  of  what  Christianity  and 
Christian  people  are.  Now,  my  friends,  here  is  some 
thing  in  our  spirit  which  we  probably  all  of  us  have  to 
rule  :  let  us,  honestly,  praying  for  God's  grace,  seek 
to  rule  it.  Let  us  not  take  up  the  impression  that 
even  the  smallest  temptation  can  be  resisted  in  any 
strength  of  our  own  ;  or  that  the  very  least  hindrance 
in  our  spiritual  life  is  too  small  a  matter  to  take  to 
God's  footstool,  and  to  tell  God  about,  and  to  make 
the  subject  of  earnest  prayer.  I  believe  that  there  is 
hardly  anything  which  does  more  to  injure  the  spiritual 
life  of  ordinary  Christians,  than  their  getting  into  their 
minds  some  vague  impression  that  it  is  all  quite  right 


THE  RULING  OF  THE  SPIRIT.  175 

to  go  and  ask  God's  grace  in  prayer  for  performing 
great  duties  and  resisting  great  temptations ;  but  that 
really  it  would  be  something  like  profanation  to  make 
the  little  worries  of  life  known  at  God's  footstool,  and 
to  ask  his  Spirit  to  aid  in  ruling  a  little  evil  tendency 
in  your  spirit  which  you  think  you  might  really  rule 
yourself.  Let  us  get  rid  of  that  impression  ;  it  is  out- 
and-out  wrong.  There  is  nothing  that  interests  you, 
that  is  too  little  to  confide  to  your  God,  in  the  soli 
tude  of  closet-prayer.  You  may  enter  into  your  cham 
ber,  and  shut  your  door,  and,  secure  of  a  kindly  hear 
ing,  you  may  tell  your  Father  which  is  in  secret  of 
little  things  which  worry  and  vex  you,  and  retard  you 
in  your  spiritual  life,  which  are  yet  so  little  that  you 
would  be  ashamed  to  confess  to  your  nearest  friend 
how  great  a  space  they  fill  up  in  your  heart.  Fix  it 
in  your  mind,  that  there  is  no  duty,  however  little, 
which  we  can  do  without  God's  grace ;  and  no  tempta 
tion,  however  small,  which  we  can  resist  without  God's 
grace.  And  do  you  need  to  be  told,  that  little  duties 
and  little  temptations  make  up,  for  most  of  us,  the  sum 
of  common  life  ?  We  are  not  called  on  to  rule  our 
spirit  on  a  grand  and  magnificent-  scale  ;  we  are  just 
to  do  the  little  task  God  sets  us.  You  are  not  tempted 
to  renounce  your  Saviour  ;  but  you  are  tempted  to 
speak  snappishly  to  those  under  your  roof,  or  to  dwell 
upon  some  little  offence  which  has  been  given  you. 
Your  temptation  is  not  the  scaffold  or  the  stake  ;  it  is 
no  more  than  some  little  irritability  of  nerve  or  heart ; 


176  THE  RULING  OF   THE  SPIRIT. 

but  it  is  your  temptation,  it  is  your  besetting  sin,  it  is 
the  very  thing  which  in  your  spirit  needs  ruling ;  and, 
whether  in  things  great  or  small,  "  better  is  he  that 
ruletli  his  spirit,  than  he  that  taketh  a  city  !  " 

I  need  not  tell  any  hearer,  that  it  is  quite  impossi 
ble,  and  not  even  desirable,  that  I  should  make  out  a 
list,  or  attempt  a  description  of  all  the  varied  tenden 
cies  to  think  wrong  or  to  feel  wrong  that  may  be  found 
in  the  human  heart ;  —  of  all  the  things  about  our 
"  spirit "  which  in  this  respect  need  to  be  "  ruled,"  to 
be  held  in  check,  to  be  turned  in  the  right  direction. 
I  aim  at  no  more  than  setting  before  you  such  repre 
sentative  tendencies  as  may  set  your  own  minds  think 
ing  ;  I  desire  to  say  something  which  may  make  each 
of  you  remember  that  impulse  to  wrong  or  morbid 
thought  or  feeling  which  you  yourself  are  especially 
called  to  resist  and  keep  down.  And  now  that  we 
have  looked  at  an  impulse  to  wrong  feeling  or  passion, 
let  us  look  at  another  wrong  tendency  of  a  somewhat 
more  intellectual  cast. 

I  mean  the  tendency  which  exists,  more  or  less,  in 
most  hearts,  to  discontent  with  the  allotments  of  God's 
providence  ;  to  envy  and  jealousy  as  regards  those  of 
our.  fellow-creatures  who  are  more  favored  and  for 
tunate  than  we.  The  ruling  of  our  spirit  which  I  am 
now  thinking  of,  is  that  which  lies  in  reconciling  our 
mind  to  painful  things  ;  in  acquiescing  in  mortification 
and  disappointment  when  they  come  ;  in  feeling  rightly 
towards  people  to  whom  we  are  disposed  to  feel  un- 


THE  RULING   OF  THE  SPIRIT.  177 

kindly  and  bitterly.  And  let  me  tell  you,  my  friends, 
there  is  to  many  a  man  no  harder  ruling  of  the  spirit, 
than  that  of  reconciling  his  mind  to  the  place  where 
God  has  set  him.  The  Hand  above  gives  you  your 
place  and  your  work  ;  and  then  there  is  the  struggle 
heartily  and  cheerfully  to  acquiesce  in  the  decree. 
And  this  is  not  always  an  easy  thing ;  though  be  sure 
that  the  man  who  honestly  and  Christianly  tries  to  do 
it,  will  never  fail  to  succeed  at  last.  How  curiously 
people  are  set  down  in  life ;  in  all  callings  whatso 
ever !  You  find  men  in  the  last  places  they  would 
have  chosen  ;  in  the  last  places  for  which  you  would 
say  they  are  suited.  And  such  men,  and  all  thinking 
men,  have  doubtless  their  own  battle  in  making  up 
their  mind  to  many  things,  both  in  their  own  lot,  and 
in  the  lot  of  others.  I  do  not  mean  merely  the  intel 
lectual  effort  to  look  at  the  success  of  other  men  and 
our  own  failure  in  such  a  way  as  that  we  shall  be  in 
tellectually  convinced  that  we  have  no  right  to  com 
plain  of  either ;  I  do  not  mean  merely  the  labor  to  put 
things  in  the  right  point  of  view  ;  but  the  moral  and 
spiritual  effort  to  look  fairly  at  the  facts  not  in  any 
way  disguised,  —  not  tricked  out  by  some  skilful  way 
of  putting  the  case  ;  —  and  yet  to  repress  all  wrong 
feeling  ;  all  fretfulness,  envy,  jealousy,  dislike,  hatred. 
I  do  not  mean  to  persuade  ourselves  that  the  grapes 
we  cannot  reach  are  sour ;  but  (far  nobler  surely)  to 
be  well  aware  that  they  are  sweet,  and  yet  be  content 
that  another  should  have  them  and  not  we.  I  mean 


178  THE  RULING  OF  THE  SPIRIT. 

the  labor,  when  you  have  run  in  a  race  and  been 
beaten,  to  resign  your  mind  to  the  fact  that  you  have 
been  beaten,  and  to  bear  a  kind  feeling  towards  the 
man  that  beat  you.  And  this  is  labor,  and  hard  la 
bor  ;  though  very  different  from  that  physical  exer 
tion  which  the  uncivilized  man  would  understand  by 
the  word. 

You  know,  my  friends,  that  in  all  professions  and 
occupations  to  which  men  can  devote  themselves, 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  competition  ;  and  wherever 
there  is  competition,  there  will  be  the  temptation  to 
envy,  jealousy,  and  detraction,  as  regards  a  man's 
competitors ;  and  so  there  will  be  need  of  that  labor 
and  exertion  which  lie  in  resolutely  trampling  that 
temptation  down.  It  does  not  matter  whether  the 
prize  be  great  or  small ;  the  temptation  in  all  cases  is 
the  same  in  its  essential  nature.  It  does  not  matter 
whether  it  be  two  schoolboys,  both  bent  upon  the 
medal  which  only  one  can  get ;  or  two  traders,  each 
determined  to  be  first  in  that  street;  or  two  states 
men,  each  resolved  that  he  himself  shall  be  Prime 
Minister  ;  or  two  great  lawyers,  each  set  upon  being 
Lord  Chancellor.  You  are  quite  certain,  my  friend, 
as  you  go  on  through  life,  to  have  to  make  up  your 
mind  to  failure  and  disappointment  on  your  own  part, 
and  to  seeing  other  men  preferred  before  you.  Now, 
when  these  things  come,  there  are  two  ways  of  meet 
ing  them.  One  is,  to  hate  and  vilify  those  who  sur 
pass  you,  either  in  merit  or  success ;  to  detract  from 


THE  RULING  OF  THE  SPIRIT.  179 

their  merit  and  underrate  their  success  ;  or,  if  you 
must  admit  some  merit,  to  bestow  upon  it  very  faint 
praise.  Now,  all  this  is  natural  enough  ;  but  as 
suredly  it  is  neither  a  Christian  nor  a  happy  course 
to  follow.  It  is  natural  enough ;  natural  in  inferior 
animals  as  well  as  in  man.  You  have  heard  of  the 
race-horse,  running  a  neck-and-neck  race  with  an 
other,  and  beaten  by  an  inch,  which  turned  savagely 
upon  his  successful  rival  and  tore  him  with  his  teeth. 
Natural  enough,  indeed  ;  but  just  one  of  those  wrong 
tendencies  in  our  fallen  spirit  which  it  concerns  the 
Christian  man  to  rule  and  to  put  down.  That  is 
one  way  ;  but  the  other  and  better  way  is  to  fight 
these  tendencies  to  the  death ;  to  struggle  against 
them,  to  pray  against  them  ;  to  seek  God's  grace  to 
put  them  down  ;  to  resign  yourself  to  God's  good  will ; 
to  admire  and  love  the  man  who  surpasses  and  excels 
you.  And  this  course  is  the  Christian  one,  and  the 
happy  one.  Rightly  rule  your  spirit ;  and,  oh,  it  is  a 
noble  thing  !  I  believe  that  the  greatest  blessing  God 
can  send  a  man  is  disappointment,  rightly  met  and 
used.  There  is  no  more  ennobling  discipline  ;  there 
is  no  discipline  which  results  in  a  happier  or  kindlier 
temper  of  mind.  And  in  honestly  fighting  against 
these  evil  impulses  we  have  thought  of,  —  in  thus 
seeking  to  rule  your  spirit  fitly,  —  you  will  assuredly 
get  help  and  strength  and  grace  from  above.  And 
that  ruling  of  the  spirit  which  is  needful  Christianly  to 
meet  disappointment,  brings  out  the  best  and  noblest 


180  THE  RULING  OF  THE  SPIRIT. 

qualities  that  can  be  found  in  man.  I  have  seen  the 
homely  features  look  almost  sublime,  when  man  or 
woman  was  faithfully  by  God's  grace  resisting  and 
wrestling  with  wrong  feelings  and  tendencies,  such  as 
these.  It  is  a  noble  end  to  attain,  and  it  is  well  worth 
all  the  labor  it  costs,  to  resolutely  be  resigned,  cheer 
ful,  and  kind,  where  you  feel  a  strong  inclination  to 
be  discontented,  moody,  and  bitter  of  heart.  It  is  not 
philosophy  that  will  win  in  this  fight ;  but  the  aiding, 
sanctifying,  comforting  Spirit  of  God.  And  when  I 
would  picture  forth  a  noble  conqueror,  I  turn  from 
even  the  brave  men  who,  with  grim  face  and  bayonets 
fixed,  are  climbing  the  slope  slippery  with  blood,  and 
raked  by  shell  and  shot,  that  leads  to  the  scarce  prac 
ticable  breach ;  and  of  whom  a  bare  remnant  will  in 
half  an  hour  place  upon  the  ramparts  the  unconquered 
flag  that  all  the  world  knows,  —  I  turn  from  even  them, 
though  the  bravest  of  the  brave,  and  I  look  to  where 
the  wisest  man  has  shown  us  something  more  heroic  ; 
and  I  see  it  in  the  unsoured  spirit  and  the  kindest 
heart,  which  have  gone  on  through  many  a  care  and 
disappointment,  which  have  withstood  many  a  mortifi 
cation,  and  only  been  made  the  sweeter  by  many  a 
taking-down  ;  as  I  remember  that  no  human  wisdom 
dictated  the  words  of  the  text,  and  told  all  men  that 
"  Better  is  he  that  ruleth  his  spirit,  than  he  that  taketh 
a  city !  " 

But  now,  brethren,  you  will  easily  think  of  a  host 
of  tendencies   to  wrong  thought  and  feeling,   which 


THE  RULING  OF  THE  SPIRIT.  181 

the  Christian  man,  in  ruling  his  spirit,  will  need  to 
hold  in  check.  One  of  these,  very  powerful  in 
many  minds,  is  to  procrastination  as  to  our  spiritual 
interests  ;  it  is  that  within  us  which  would  lead  us, 
even  when  convinced  that  we  must  see  to  it  that  we 
make  our  peace  with  God,  always  to  put  off  to  an 
other  day,  to  a  more  convenient  season,  a  work  for 
which  God  has  told  us  that  "Now  is  the  accepted 
time."  Ah,  my  friends,  how  many  a  soul  has  dated 
its  ruin  to  yielding  to  an  impulse  that  ought  to  have 
been  resolutely  put  down  ;  to  postponing  till  to-mor 
row  a  work  which  should  have  been  done  to-day ! 
And  after  a  reflection  so  solemn,  we  feel  it  is  coming 
down  to  something  almost  trivial  in  comparison, 
though  by  no  means  trivial  in  its  bearing  upon  the 
happiness  of  life,  or  upon  the  formation  of  our  spirit 
ual  character,  —  when  I  mention  as  a  tendency  to  be 
checked,  that  unhappy  disposition  which  is  in  many 
hearts,  to  be  always  dwelling  on  and  brooding  over 
the  little  worries  of  life  ;  to  be  unthankfully  and  queru 
lously  looking  away  from  the  hundred  kind  gifts  God 
has  given,  and  dwelling  upon  the  crook  in  the  lot, — 
the  little  vexation,  the  little  cross,  the  little  mortifica 
tion,  which  he  who  would  rule  his  spirit  well  would 
look  away  from,  and  try  to  forget.  Suppose  a  man 
living  in  a  pleasant  home,  in  the  midst  of  a  beautiful 
country.  Suppose  that  he  has  pleasing  scenes  all 
around  him,  wherever  he  can  look  ;  except  that  in  one 
direction  there  is  a  bleak,  uninteresting,  ugly  prospect. 


182  THE  RULING   OF  THE  SPIRIT. 

Now,  what  would  you  think  of  this  man,  if  he  utterly 
refused  to  look  at  the  cheerful  and  beautiful  prospects 
which  all  around  invite  his  eye,  and  spent  the  whole 
day  gazing  intently  at  the  one  ugly  view,  and  at 
nothing  else  ?  Would  you  not  say  the  man  was  mad  ? 
And  yet,  don't  you  know,  possibly  from  your  own 
experience,  that  there  are  hosts  of  men  and  women 
who,  in  a  moral  sense,  do  just  that  ?  Hosts  of  human 
beings  who  turn  away  from  the  many  blessings  of  their 
lot,  and  dwell  and  brood  upon  its  worries  ?  Hosts  who 
persistently  look  away  from  the  nnmerous  pleasant 
things  they  might  contemplate,  and  look  fixedly  and 
almost  constantly  at  painful  and  disagreeable  things  ? 
How  ungrateful  to  a  kind  God  ;  how  unhappy  ;  how 
foolish ;  how  detrimental  to  all  that  is  noble  and 
worthy  in  our  spiritual  being ;  how  stunting  to  our 
growth  in  grace !  O  brethren,  let  us  rule  down  this 
evil  tendency  ;  we  cannot  repress  it  entirely  ;  but  we 
can  at  least  refuse  voluntarily  to  encourage  it ;  we 
should  regard  it  as  of  the  very  essence  of  our  religion 
to  put  it  down ;  and  by  God's  grace  we  may  do  so  in 
a  great  degree.  I  do  not  mention,  as  another  thing 
to  be  stopped,  the  giving  the  rein  to  impure  and 
wicked  imaginations,  of  things  you  would  blush  to 
speak  of ;  for  I  trust  that  no  one  within  hearing  of  my 
voice  would  wilfully  do  that ;  but  I  just  name  it  as 
something  which,  indulged,  has  been  to  many  as  the 
opening  of  a  floodgate  which  admitted  the  vilest  ex 
cesses  of  degrading  sin  and  sharne.  And  I  suggest  to 


THE  RULING  OF  THE  SPIRIT.  183 

you,  as  my  final  specimen  of  tendencies  and  leanings 
in  our  spirit  which  need  ruling,  that  great  pervading 
tendency  which  is  to  most  ordinary  Christians  the 
besetting  sin  ;  the  tendency  to  keep  this  world  and 
its  interest  first  in  the  heart,  and  the  unseen  and 
eternal  world  only  second  ;  the  tendency  in  our  hearts 
to  "cleave  to  the  dust,"  —  to  set  our  affections  upon 
things  on  the  earth, —  to  live  as  if  there  were  no  other 
life,  —  to  work  as  if  food  and  raiment,  as  if  worldly 
wealth  and  comfort,  were  the  "  one  thing  needful." 
O  brethren,  that  God  by  his  Spirit  would  in  this  mat 
ter  rule  our  spirits  to  truth  and  wisdom,  —  help  us  to 
realize  which  is  the  substance  and  which  the  shadow, 
—  and  grant  to  us  "  the  victory  that  overcometh  the 
world,"  even  a  living  faith !  Oh  that  we  might  feel  it, 
that  not  this  is  substance  which  we  grasp,  but  that  is 
substance  which  we  believe  ;  —  that  not  the  earth  we 
tread  on  is  the  solid,  enduring  reality,  but  rather  the 
unseen  country  which  is  very  far  away  ! 

I  have  reached  the  end  of  my  discourse,  dwelling 
only  on  those  tendencies  to  evil  thought  and  feeling 
which  were  to  have  taken  up  only  the  first  part  of  it ; 
and  there  is  not  space  to  say  anything  of  those  im 
pulses  in  our  spirit,  needing  to  be  ruled  with  a  tight 
and  a  strong  hand,  which  would  lead  to  express  and 
open  acts  of  evil.  We  need  not  turn  that  sad  leaf; 
and  I  believe  that  in  preaching  to  an  intelligent 
Christian  congregation,  the  other  is  the  more  practi- 


184  THE  RULING   OF  THE  SPIRIT. 

cally  important.  We  have  thought  of  the  angry 
passion  which  would  use  no  deadlier  weapon  than 
a  harsh  word ;  of  the  envy  and  malice  which  rankle 
inwardly,  rather  than  of  such  as  would  make  an  out 
ward  show.  And  indeed,  it  is  when  sins  of  thought 
and  feeling  are  indulged,  that  they  grow  into  sins  of 
life  and  conduct;  and  after  all,  an  actual  fact,  our 
great  sins,  —  the  main  things  we  have  to  confess  and 
seek  pardon  for,  —  are  sins  of  thought  and  feeling 
rather  than  of  life  and  conduct.  We  do  not  murder ; 
but  we  may  cherish  that  hatred  of  our  brother  which 
shall  stamp  us  murderers  in  the  judgment  of  God. 
We  bow  to  no  idol ;  yet  we  may  cherish  that  covet- 
ousness,  which  is  idolatry.  We  lead  decent,  regular 
lives  ;  yet  we  may  be  so  set  upon  this  world,  as  that 
we  shall  be  found  guilty  of  crucifying  Christ  afresh, 
and  grieving  the  Holy  Spirit  of  God  away  !  Our 
great  sins,  in  short,  are  the  sins  of  the  heart ;  are  sins 
of  thought  and  feeling ;  and  rightly  to  "  rule  our 
spirit,"  is  the  sum,  the  essence,  of  all  our  Christian 
duty.  And  to  do  that,  what  a  noble  work  ;  how  hard 
in  its  progress,  how  glorious  in  its  results  !  All  that 
shall  make  us  like  our  Saviour ;  all  that  shall  make 
us  meet  for  heaven  ;  lies  in  that  work  !  No  strength 
of  our  own  is  equal  to  it ;  but  only  his  might,  who 
regenerates  and  sanctifies,  —  that  Blessed  Spirit,  who 
is  promised  without  stint  to  all  who  seek  him  in  fer 
vent  prayer.  Oh,  may  he  be  poured  down  upon  us, 
day  by  day  !  And  so,  through  many  duties,  many 


THE  RULING  OF  THE  SPIRIT.  185 

trials,  many  temptations,  many  cares,  we  shall  hold 
still  that  central  peace  of  mind  which  is  promised  to 
the  man  whose  mind  is  stayed  upon  his  God  ;  we 
shall  be  victors  in  a  noiseless,  bloodless  battle,  fight 
ing  day  by  day  in  many  quiet  places,  —  fought  in  by 
shrinking  women,  and  by  men  that  never  drew  a 
sword,  —  yet  open,  too,  to  the  most  daring  and  heroic ; 
a  battle  which  may  leave  upon  the  outer  aspect  no 
worse  trace  than  the  thin  cheek  and  the  sad  smile  ; 
yet  which  is  the  heaviest  strain  upon  human  pith  and 
endurance  ;  and  which  may  end  in  the  most  glorious 
rewards  which  can  ever  be  won  by  human  being. 
For  "  Better,"  said  the  wisest  man,  —  inspired  by  wis 
dom  beyond  his  own,  —  "  Better  is  he  that  ruleth  his 
spirit,  than  he  that  taketh  a  city." 


XI. 


BEARING  ABOUT  THE  DYING  OF  CHRIST. 

"  Always  bearing  about  in  the  body  the  dying  of  the  Lord  Jesus.' 
2  COR.  iv.  10. 

HERE  is  something  striking  and  remark 
able  in  these  words  ;  and  it  is  not  easy, 
at  the  first  thought,  to  take  in  their  exact 
meaning.  St.  Paul  is  telling  of  the  per 
secutions  and  troubles  which  he  and  his  friends  had 
daily  to  endure,  as  they  carried  on  their  great  work 
of  preaching  the  gospel.  "  We  are  troubled,"  he 
says,  "  on  every  side,  yet  not  distressed ;  we  are 
perplexed,  but  not  in  despair  ;  persecuted,  but  not 
forsaken  ;  cast  down,  but  not  destroyed ;  always  bear 
ing  about  in  the  body  the  dying  of  the  Lord  Jesus." 
Now,  it  is  likely  enough,  that  there  were  things  in 
this  catalogue  of  sufferings  which  St.  Paul  would 
have  avoided,  if  he  had  been  able  to  do  so  with  a 
clear  conscience.  He  had  no  special  liking  for  trou 
ble,  perplexity,  or  persecution,  any  more  than  we 
have ;  and  if  the  kingdom  of  the  Redeemer  could 
have  advanced  as  well,  and  his  own  growth  in  grace 
could  have  been  secured  as  effectually,  without  these, 


BEARING  ABOUT   THE  DYING  OF  CHRIST.    187 

doubtless  he  would  have  been  thankful.  It  has  been 
said,  very  truly,  that  tribulation  is  not  a  thing  for  us 
to  seek,  but  for  God  to  send.  But  there  is  something 
d  if  Ft' rent  about  the  peculiar  trial  which  is  mentioned 
in  the  text.  It  was  •&  trial,  or  St.  Paul  would  not  have 
named  it  in  thus  reckoning  up  the  troubles  which  he 
was  called  to  bear.  But  it  was  a  trial  of  such  a  sin 
gular  kind,  that  the  great  apostle  did  not  wish  to  be 
rid  of  it.  It  was  a  trial  of  that  singular  nature,  that 
he  prayed  that  it  might  be  sent  to  him,  and  laid  upon 
him.  It  is  not  here  that  he  does  so ;  but  in  another 
of  his  epistles  he  uses  words  which  recall  to  us  at  once 
what  he  has  written  here  concerning  bearing  about 
his  Saviour's  dying  ;  and  he  tells  us  there,  that  there 
was  nothing  in  this  world  he  wished  for  more  than 
that.  He  tells  us  there,  that  he  counted  all  things  as 
worthless,  that  he  might  "win  Christ ;"  that  he  might 
be  "  found  in  him  ;  "  that  he  might  "  know  him,  and 
the  power  of  his  resurrection,  and  the  fellowship  of 
his  sufferings;  being  made  conformable  unto  his  death." 
"  Conformable  unto  the  Saviour's  death  ; "  that  is  what 
St.  Paul  wished  to  be  ;  that  is  what  every  Christian 
ought  to  be ;  that  is  what  we  should  daily  pray  that 
we  may  be  ;  that  is  something  which  implies  difficulty, 
which  implies  suffering  ;  yet  which  implies  blessing  so 
precious  that  you  never  could  seek  better  for  yourself, 
or  wish  better  for  your  dearest  friend  ;  and  what  else 
does  that  mean,  but  that  every  true  Christian  should 
ever  be  doing  what  St.  Paul  tells  us  he  always  did  : 


188     BEARING  ABOUT  THE  DYING  OF  CHRIST. 

"  Always  bearing  about  in  the  body  the  dying  of  the 
Lord  Jesus ! " 

Now,  my  friends,  we  know  the  way  in  which  St. 
Paul,  and  many  of  the  first  preachers  of  the  gospel, 
had  to  do  this.  There  is  but  one  opinion,  I  believe, 
as  to  the  first  and  literal  meaning  of  these  words  of 
the  text.  It  is  understood  that  they  mean  that  St. 
Paul  and  his  friends  were  in  daily  peril  of  such  a 
death  as  Christ's  was  ;  that  they  had  daily  to  bear 
such  stripes  as  had  been  laid  upon  that  blessed  Lamb 
of  God  ;  that  their  daily  privations  were  wearing  out 
within  them  the  principle  of  life.  It  is  understood 
that  when  St.  Paul  said  that  the  apostles  were  "  al 
ways  bearing  about  in  the  body  the  dying  of  the  Lord 
Jesus,"  he  meant  that  all  these  trials  and  privations 
which  they  suffered  had  left  their  sorrowful  trace  upon 
form  and  feature ;  that  these  early  Christians  bore  in 
their  emaciated  bodies  the  outward  signs  of  the  tribu 
lation  they  were  passing  through.  They  may  have 
been  but  a  poor,  puny  race  of  men,  in  the  matters  of 
outward  strength  and  outward  comeliness,  who  yet 
were  honored  to  convey  to  after  centuries  and  to  un 
born  generations,  the  very  best  tidings  that  ever 
gladdened  man's  weary  heart,  —  the  blessed  gospel  of 
salvation  and  immortality  through  a  crucified  Re 
deemer.  They  may  have  been  but  a  weakly,  dying- 
like  company  of  men,  in  whose  weakness  God  made 
perfect  the  martyr's  heroic  strength  ;  and  through 
whose  instrumentality  God  told  us  of  a  Saviour  in 


BEARING  ABOUT  THE  DYING  OF  CHRIST.      189 

whom  "  whosoever  belie veth  "  "  shall  never  die."  It 
may  be,  that  if  you  had  looked  upon  the  living  form 
and  face  of  the  great  apostle  of  the  Gentiles,  you 
would  have  seen  in  the  pale,  wasted  figure,  worn 
down  by  want  and  travel  and  scourgings  and  buffet- 
ings  and  aged  before  its  time,  —  that  St.  Paul  bore  in 
his  body  the  traces  of  such  sufferings  as  wrote  too 
early  age  upon  the  kindest  face  this  world  ever  saw  ; 
that  St.  Paul  bore  in  his  body  the  traces  of  such  suf 
ferings  as  brought  Christ  himself  to  his  grave. 

That,  my  friends,  was  the  apostolic  way  of  "  bearing 
about  in  the  body  the  dying  of  Christ."  It  is  not  so 
that  we  are  called  to  be  "  conformable  to  the  death  " 
of  our  Redeemer.  The  days  of  such  martyrdom  as 
that  of  the  apostolic  age  are  gone,  in  this  part  of  the 
world.  When  St.  Paul  spoke  of  being  conformable 
to  his  Lord's  death,  he  probably  meant  that  if  need 
were,  he  was  willing  to  die  in  like  manner ;  and  at 
that  time,  it  was  so  likely  that  a  professed  Christian 
might  be  called  to  die  a  violent  death,  that  the  man 
who  made  such  a  declaration  was  likely  enough  to 
have  his  resolution  put  to  the  proof.  Nor  is  it  needful 
or  right  for  us  to  seek  by  self-inflicted  penances  to 
rival  the  worn  aspect  of  the  early  confessors  ;  we  are 
not  called,  by  vigils,  scourgings,  and  fastings,  to  ma 
cerate  our  bodily  frames.  You  know  that  there  are 
those  among  Christians  now,  who  think  to  obey  the 
injunction  implied  in  the  text  in  a  fashion  more  literal 
still.  There  are  persons  who  think  to  obey  it  by 


190     BEARING  ABOUT  THE  DYING  OF  CHRIST. 

always  bearing  about  with  them  the  material  represen 
tation  of  the  Redeemer's  death  ;  the  crucifix,  where 
the  artist's  skill  has  sought  to  picture  out  the  last 
agonies  of  our  Lord,  as  he  hung  upon  the  cross  ;  or 
the  cross  itself,  the  recognized  emblem  over  the  wide 
world  of  our  holy  faith,  and  of  devotion  to  him  who 
died  for  us  on  the  accursed  tree.  Ah,  my  friends, 
that  is  not  the  way  in  which  the  believer  is  called  to 
be  "  always  bearing  about  in  the  body  the  dying  of 
Christ."  You  might  bear  the  crucifix  or  the  cross 
with  you  wherever  you  went ;  you  might  have  the 
dying  Saviour's  image  placed  where  it  should  be  the 
first  thing  to  catch  your  waking  eyes  at  morning,  and 
the  last  thing  to  leave  them  at  night ;  and  yet  you 
might  be  hundreds  of  miles  away  from  any  compli 
ance  with  the  spirit  of  the  text.  It  is  no  mere  bodily 
service  which  our  Lord  requires  of  us.  The  service 
he  desires  is  the  devotion  of  the  heart ;  it  is  spiritual 
ly,  and  yet  most  really,  that  we,  in  these  days,  are  to 
seek  daily  to  do  what  St.  Paul  always  did ;  even  to 
bear  about  our  Saviour's  dying. 

And  now  let  us  inquire,  my  friends,  what  manner 
of  obedience  to  this  unrepealed  requirement  remains 
for  us.  Let  us  think  in  what  way  we  may  still  "  bear 
about  with  us  the  dying  of  the  Lord  Jesus." 

In  the  first  place,  we  may  bear  about  the  memory 
o£  it.  If  it  be  true  at  all  that  our  Redeemer  died  as 
he  did  die  ;  and  died  so  for  us  ;  nothing  can  be  more 
plain  than  that  we  ought  never  to  forget  it.  Even 


BEARING  ABOUT  THE  DYING  OF  CHRIST.     191 

when  we  are  not  specially  calling  our  Saviour's  death 
to  mind,  the  recollection  of  it  should  be  latent  in  our 
hearts,  and  should  be  unconsciously  affecting  all  our 
views  of  things.  I  am  sure  you  know  that  such  a 
thing  may  be.  When  you  met  some  great  bereave 
ment  ;  when  some  one  very  near  to  you  died  ;  even 
after  the  first  shock  was  past ;  even  after  you  no 
longer  had  before  your  mind's  eye,  wherever  you 
went,  the  parting  hour  of  the  little  child  perhaps  that 
was  taken  from  you  ;  even  when  you  could  once  more 
with  some  measure  of  calmness  set  yourself  to  your 
common  duties  again,  without  having  always  breaking 
in  upon  you  the  picture  you  once  thought  never  would 
leave  you,  of  the  lips  of  clay  silent  and  still,  and  the 
little  silky  head  laid  in  the  last  resting-place  where 
you  could  ever  lay  it ;  did  you  not  still  feel,  in  the 
subdued  spirits,  in  the  greater  sympathy  with  the  sor 
rows  of  others,  in  the  quieter  and  gentler  mood,  that 
you  ha'd  not  quite  got  over  your  trial ;  that  you  were 
still  bearing  about  with  you  the  dying  of  the  dear  one 
that  was  gone  !  The  first  shock  was  over  ;  but  its 
memory  was  there  ;  and  you  were  the  kinder  and  the 
better  for  it. 

Now,  my  friends,  I  say  that  in  all  our  life,  in  all 
we  are  ever  called  to  do  or  to  bear,  we  ought  to 
be,  more  or  less  consciously,  "bearing  about  with  us" 
the  remembrance  of  our  Blessed  Lord's  death,  and  of 
how  he  died.  We  should  live  daily  in  memory  of 
his  death ;  and  that  memory  should  influence  and 


192     BEARING  ABOUT  THE  DYING  OF  CHRIST. 

affect  all  our  views  and  all  our  doings.  You  know, 
there  is  something  that  shocks  one,  when  we  see  a 
new-made  orphan,  or  a  new-made  widow,  showing 
plainly  that  they  have  entirely  and  fast  got  over  the 
death  of  the  husband  or  parent  who  is  gone.  We 
have  all,  perhaps,  been  shocked  by  unse-emly  mirth, 
by  revolting  levity,  in  those  who  have  been  freshly 
bereaved ;  and  most  of  us  will  agree  in  thinking  that 
the  rapid  dying-out  of  warm  feelings,  and  the  rapid 
change  of  fixed  resolutions,  is  one  of  the  most  sorrow 
ful  subjects  of  reflection  which  it  is  possible  to  suggest. 
"We  do  not  ask  for  any  long  continuance,  even  in  the 
most  tried,  of  extravagant  grief;  it  is  the  manifest  in 
tention  of  the  Creator  that  very  strong  feelings  should 
be  transitory.  But  it  is  a  sorrowful  thing  when  they 
pass,  and  leave  absolutely  no  trace  behind  them.  Let 
us  be  content,  my  friends,  to  look  at  the  case  temper 
ately.  Let  us  face  and  admit  the  facts.  The  healthy 
body  and  mind  can  get  over  a  great  deal ;  but  there 
are  some  things  which  it  is  not  to  the  credit  of  our 
nature  should  ever  be  entirely  got  over.  And  if  it  be 
a  sad  thing,  and  a  shocking  thing,  to  see  any  human 
being  who  has  been  called  by  God's  providence  to 
stand  by  the  dying  bed  of  many  near  relatives,  show 
ing  by  his  entire  demeanor  that  he  has  quite  forgot 
it;  if  the  tacit  consent  of  all  thinking  people  has 
decided  that  such  a  one  may  be,  and  ought  to  be, 
unostentatiously  bearing  about  the  quiet  remembrance 
of  their  dying;  is  it  too  much  to  expect  that  we,  whose 


BEARING  ABOUT  THE  DYING  OF  CHRIST.    193 

Saviour  died  such  a  death,  and  died  it,  in  simple  truth, 
for  us,  should  not  live  quite  as  if  he  had  not  died ! 
You  would  feel  that  you  had  a  right  to  expect  the 
friend  you  may  leave  behind  you,  to  "  bear  about 
your  dying  "  a  little  ;  especially  if  it  were  a  death  of 
special  pain,  and  if  you  were  to  undergo  it  for  his 
sake.  The  kind  mother,  who  wore  out  her  life  in. 
caring  and  toiling  for  her  child,  might  well  think  that 
the  child  might  sometimes  come  and  stand  by  her 
grave ;  and  remember  her  living  kindness  and  her 
dying  words,  when  she  was  far  away.  And,  O  breth 
ren,  when  we  do  but  try  to  think  what  our  Saviour 
Christ  has  done  for  us  ;  done  for  us  by  his  life,  but 
above  all  by  his  dying ;  when  we  feel  how  impossible 
it  is  for  us  to  reckon  up  what  he  has  done  for  us, 
and  how  impossible  it  is  for  us  to  understand  and 
realize  what  he  suffered  for  us  ;  —  when  we  think  that 
every  hope,  every  blessing,  that  ever  can  gladden  our 
poor  sinful  hearts,  was  won  for  us  by  that  great  sacri 
fice  consummated  by  our  Saviour's  dying ;  surely, 
surely,  we  might  well  determine  that  we  never  shall 
forget  that  death,  —  that  we  never  shall  live  as  if  that 
death  had  never  been  !  You  hear  people  say,  truly 
enough  perhaps,  that  this  world  has  never  been  the 
same  to  them  since  such  a  loved  one  died ;  that  their 
whole  life  has  been  changed  since  then.  Is  it  un 
reasonable  when  St.  Paul  suggests  to  us,  that  we  never 
should  look  at  anything  now,  just  as  if  Jesus  had  not 
come  to  this  earth  and  laid  down  his  life  for  us ;  that 
9 


194    BEARING  ABOUT  THE  DYING  OF  CHRIST. 

we  ought  to  look  at  everything,  and  specially  at  all 
spiritual  and  moral  realities,  in  the  light  of  his  dying ; 
that  we  should  always  bear  about  the  remembrance 
of  it !  Oh,  it  is  sad  to  see  a  Christian  living  in  such 
a  fashion  as  to  show  plainly  that  he  has  quite  forgot 
how  his  Redeemer  died !  It  is  sad  to  feel  in  our 
selves,  that  we  spend  many  an  hour  just  as  if  our 
Redeemer  had  never  died  !  Surely  it  ought  not  so  to 
be.  It  is  not  that  we  ought  to  be,  or  that  we  can 
be,  always  directly  thinking  of  Christ's  death  ;  that  is 
impossible  5  we  must  think  of  many  a  worldly  matter, 
and  think  intently,  too,  or  we  shall  do  little  good  in 
this  life ;  and  no  one,  knowing  anything  of  the  laws 
of  the  human  mind,  would  ever  ask  that  the  mind 
should  be  kept  running  ceaselessly  upon  any  single 
thought.  But  what  we  ask  is,  that  the  remembrance 
of  the  Redeemer's  dying  should  always  be  latent  in 
our  hearts ;  that  it  should,  almost  unnoticed,  color  all 
our  views  and  doings ;  that  even  when  other  thoughts 
are  uppermost,  that  should  ever  be  at  the  bottom  of 
our  hearts ;  and  more  especially,  that  whenever  we 
are  called  to  think  of  spiritual  things,  and  whenever 
we  come  to  critical  points  in  our  pilgrimage-path,  — 
places  where  we  must  go  to  right  or  left,  —  that  re 
membrance  should  spring  up  into  strong  and  vivid 
life,  and  be  as  a  lamp  to  our  feet  and  a  light  to  our 
path.  When  we  think  of  sin,  let  us  see  it  in  the  light 
of  Christ's  death,  and  hate  it  because  it  nailed  him 
to  the  tree  !  Let  us,  whensoever  we  are  pressed  by 


BEARING  ABOUT  THE  DYING  OF  CHRIST.    195 

some  pleasing  temptation,  associate  it  in  our  minds 
with  the  suffering  and  dying  of  Christ ;  oh,  let  us, 
whensoever  and  howsoever  tempted  to  sin,  call  up 
before  our  memory  the  pale,  drooping  figure  on  the 
cross,  anguished,  bleeding,  dying,  —  and  let  us  think 
that  there  is  the  proof  what  sin  is,  and  what  God 
thinks  of  it ;  and  thus,  as  a  fence  against  temptation, 
as  something  to  keep  us  always  right  in  our  views  and 
feelings  towards  every  form  of  evil,  let  us  bear  about 
with  us  the  dying  of  our  Lord  !  Or,  is  it  suffering  and 
sorrow  that  come  to  us ;  and  are  we  ready  to  repine 
and  to  rebel  ?  Oh,  then,  let  us  call  to  mind  the  agony 
and  the  dying  of  our  Redeemer ;  and  it  will  not  seem 
so  hard  that  the  servant  should  fare  no  better  than  the 
Master  fared  ?  You  may  remember  that  good  priest, 
in  the  history  of  our  own  country,  who  was  subjected 
to  inhuman  tortures  because  he  told  a  wicked  king 
and  court  certain  unpleasing  truths.  The  pain  was 
cruel,  he  said  after  it  was  past ;  but  he  thought  how 
meekly  the  cross  was  borne  up  Calvary  ;  and  that 
thought  enabled  him  to  bear  it  without  a  murmur. 
And  how  slight  and  trivial  all  our  endurances  will 
seem,  when  we  set  them  by  the  side  of  those  of  our 
kind  Redeemer !  Or,  are  we  pressed  with  the  sense 
of  our  sinfulness,  and  the  fear  of  God's  wrath  for  sin  ? 
Then  let  us  remember  how  Jesus  died  for  us,  the  just 
for  the  unjust ;  how  his  blood  can  take  all  sin  away  ; 
how  he  was  wounded  for  our  transgressions  ;  how 
our  sins  were  laid  upon  his  sinless  head  ;  how  it  must 


196    BEARING  ABOUT  THE  DYING  OF  CHRIST. 

be  in  the  salvation  of  such  as  us,  that  he  is  yet  to  see 
of  the  travail  of  his  soul.  And  in  days  of  doubt  and 
fear  for  the  way  before  us,  let  us  remember  how  Jesus 
died  ;  and  think,  he  that  spared  not  his  own  Son, 
but  delivered  him  up  to  death  for  us  all,  how  shall 
he  not  with  him  also  freely  give  us  all  things  ?  Oh, 
let  us,  by  faith,  bear  that  remembrance  in  our  hearts  ! 
The  Redeemer's  parting  hour,  indeed,  is  passed  away  ; 
but  its  remembrance  should  never  pass  from  us.  Yea, 
rather,  as  fence  against  temptation ;  as  light  to  show 
the  true  dark  colors  of  sin  ;  as  lesson  of  patience, 
faith,  hope,  and  charity  ;  we  should  be  "  always  bear 
ing  about "  with  us  "  the  dying  of  the  Lord  Jesus  ! " 

But  there  is  more  than  this.  There  still  remains 
for  us  a  further  way  of  doing  what  St.  Paul  names  in 
our  text.  We  have  seen  that  we  may  always  bear 
about  the  memory  of  Christ's  dying,  and  see  all  things 
by  that  light ;  but,  secondly,  we  may  show  in  our  daily 
life  the  transforming  power  of  the  Saviour's  death. 
Our  whole  life,  changed,  and  affected  in  its  every 
deed,  by  the  fact  that  Christ  died,  may  be  a  standing 
testimony  to  all  who  see  us  that  there  is  a  real  power 
to  affect  the  character  in  the  sight  of  the  dying 
Saviour ;  and  thus  we  may,  in  a  very  true  and  solemn 
sense,  be  always  bearing  about  with  us  the  dying  of 
the  Redeemer ;  bearing  about  with  us  a  soul  which 
is  what  it  is,  mainly  because  he  died.  And  there 
is  nothing  incomprehensible,  nothing  mystical,  in  all 


BEARING  ABOUT  THE  DYING  OF  CHRIST.   197 

this.  We  are  not  asked  to  believe  that  Christ's 
death  has  a  power  to  transform  our  nature,  without 
seeing  where  that  power  lies,  or  how  it  is  exercised. 
We  have  already,  in  thinking  of  the  way  in  which 
we  ought  to  be  ever  bearing  with  us  the  remem 
brance  of  our  Master's  death,  had  a  glimpse  of  the 
rationale  of  the  process  by  which  Christ's  death  ex 
ercises  its  transforming  power.  To  say  that  Christ's 
death  has  efficacy  to  transform  the  character,  is  just 
in  other  words  to  say  this:  that  the  remembrance 
of  Christ's  death  is  a  practical  thing  in  our  hearts ; 
that  it  will  not  rest  in  mere  pensive  recollection  ; 
—  that  it  does  not  waste  itself  in  that ;  but  that  it 
spurs  on  to  action.  It  is  impossible  that  we  should 
rightly  remember  our  Saviour's  death  ;  and  yet  live 
just  the  same  as  before.  The  remembrance  of  his 
dying ;  the  view  by  faith  of  his  cross  ;  has  something 
to  say  to  everything  we  think,  or  say,  or  do.  There 
is  something  in  the  mere  contemplation  of  Christ 
crucified,  for  which  heart  and  life,  by  God's  grace, 
are  the  better,  we  can  hardly  say  how  ;  but  we  do  not 
rest  any  weight  on  such  a  thought  as  that,  because  we 
know  how  natural  it  is  for  us  all,  when  religious  truths 
like  that  are  presented  to  us,  to  feel  somehow  as  if 
they  were  away  from  reality ;  and  to  fancy  that  many 
things  are  all  sound  and  right  enough  in  theology, 
but  that  somehow  they  fail  to  work  in  actual  life. 
But,  brethren,  when  in  the  view  of  the  cross  we  see 
how  bitterly  and  mysteriously  evil  and  ruinous  sin 


198    BEARING  ABOUT  THE  DYING  OF  CHRIST. 

is,  surely  the  practical  lesson  is  plain  :  Is  it  not  that 
we  should  dread  sin,  and  battle  with  temptation,  and 
resolutely  tread  it  down  ;  and  earnestly  seek  for  de 
liverance  from  the  curse  of  that  fearful  thing  which 
brought  such  unutterable  agony  upon  our  Redeemer ; 
and  constantly  pray  for  that  Blessed  Spirit  who  will 
breathe  new  life  into  every  good  resolution,  and 
vivify  into  sunlight  clearness  every  sound  and  true 
belief?  You  cannot  look  upon  the  dying  Saviour, 
agonized  on  account  of  sin  ;  and  then  go  and  live  in 
sin  just  as  if  he  had  not  died !  And  thus,  in  a 
mind  and  heart  all  whose  beliefs  and  affections  are 
founded  on,  and  take  their  tone  from,  the  fact  of  the 
Redeemer's  death  ;  and  in  a  daily  life  which  is  the 
outflow  and  result  of  these  beliefs  and  affections ; 
you  will  be  showing  that  the  sight  of  Christ  cruci 
fied  has  a  real  power  to  affect  and  transform  human 
nature  ;  you  will  be  "  always  bearing  about  in  your  " 
life  and  conduct  and  character,  "  the  dying  of  the 
Lord  Jesus!" 

And  this  which  has  been  said  of  the  way  in  which 
views  of  sin,  as  beheld  in  the  light  of  Christ's  death, 
are  carried  into  the  life,  and  transform  the  nature, 
may  serve  as  a  specimen  of  the  way  in  which  the 
Saviour's  dying  should  transform  us  entirely.  Thus 
do  right  views  of  spiritual  things,  obtained  by  seeing 
them  all  in  the  light  of  Christ's  death,  pass  into  prac 
tice.  When  sorrow  and  suffering  come,  think  of  them 
as  in  the  presence  of  the  Redeemer's  death ;  and  you 


BEARING  ABOUT  THE  DYING  OF  CHRIST.    199 

will  learn  the  lesson  of  practical  resignation.  Under 
the  deep  conviction  how  sinful  and  lost  you  are,  let 
the  sight  of  your  dying  Saviour  encourage  you  to  go 
and  confide  your  soul  to  him  by  a  living,  earnest 
faith.  And  in  days  of  fear  and  anxiety,  when  you  do 
not  know  how  it  will  go  with  you,  oh  look  to  Jesus  on 
the  cross ;  and  learn  the  lesson  of  practical  confidence 
in  God's  disposing  love  and  wisdom,  as  you  think  that 
surely  he  who  provided  that  precious  sacrifice  will 
never  fail  to  justify  the  hope  and  promise  of  the  name 
the  patriarch  gave  him  ;  —  that  his  name  is  still  Jeho- 
vah-jireh,  The  Lord  will  provide ;  and  that  not  in  the 
mount  of  the  Lord  only,  but  over  the  wide  world  in 
the  experience  of  all  his  people,  that  shall  be  seen. 
And  to  sum  up  all  in  one,  let  us  be  made  conformable 
to  Christ's  death,  let  us  daily  bear  about  his  dying,  — 
by  dying  to  sin  and  living  to  holiness.  That  is  the 
grand  conformity  which  is  open  to  all  of  us ;  that 
is  the  fashion  in  which  we  may  be  "  crucified  with 
Christ !  "  In  the  perpetual  mortifying  of  our  corrupt 
affections  and  desires  ;  in  the  ruling  of  our  spirit ;  in 
the  constant  struggle  against  all  that  in  us  which  is 
displeasing  to  God ;  all  envy,  hatred,  malice,  unchari- 
tableness  ;  all  self-sufficiency,  all  pride,  everything 
which  there  was  nothing  like  in  the  mind  of  Jesus ; 
we  shall  be  crucified  to  the  world,  and  the  world 
crucified  to  us  ;  and  thus  bear  about  our  Redeemer's 
dying ! 

Yes,  always  bear  it ;  never  lay  that  burden  down  ; 


200     BEARING  ABOUT  THE  DYING  OF  CHRIST. 

that  yoke  made  so  easy  and  pleasant  by  the  precious 
communications  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  Always  bear  it ; 
not  in  sourness ;  not  in  that  hard,  severe  type  of  relig 
ion  which  we  may  see  in  some  mistaken  and  narrow- 
hearted  believers,  and  which  does  so  much  to  repel 
the  young  from  religion  ;  not  in  that  stupid  forbidding 
of  innocent  amusement,  which  is  strange  indeed  in  the 
disciples  of  One  whose  first  miracle  was  wrought  at  a 
marriage-festival ;  and  who,  we  may  be  sure,  cast  no 
damp  over  its  innocent  mirth.  Yes ;  always  bear  the 
Saviour's  dying ;  bear  it  in  humility,  in  kindness,  in 
charity  in  your  doings  and  your  judgments;  in  resig 
nation  to  God's  wise  appointments,  in  faith  in  God's 
great  love,  in  faith  the  simplest  and  in  love  the  deep 
est  towards  that  Best  and  Kindest  Friend,  transcend 
ing  all  thought  and  word,  who  died  for  us  upon  the 
accursed  tree.  Bear  it,  too,  in  hopefulness  and  cheer 
fulness,  so  far  as  these  things  are  given  to  us  in  this 
life.  There  need  be  no  change  upon  your  outward 
aspect,  like  that  wearing  change  which  passed  upon 
St.  Paul,  as  you  bear  about  in  the  body  your  Saviour's 
dying  ;  no  change  wrought  upon  you  save  that  wrought 
so  gradually  by  advancing  years  and  their  many  toils 
and  cares ;  your  brow  need  not  be  lined  a  day  the 
sooner,  nor  your  hair  a  day  the  sooner  gray ;  but  oh 
that  all  of  us  might  be  daily  and  hourly  bearing  that 
burden  !  it  would  be  well  for  the  world  we  live  in, 
and  well  for  ourselve.5 ;  you  would  look  with  interest, 
and  almost  with  awe,  at  a  man  concerning  whom  you 


BEARING  ABOUT  THE  DYING  OF  CHRIST.     201 

knew,  that  all  the  while  he  was  busied  with  the  little 
business  of  life,  there  was  a  great,  solemn,  sacred  re 
membrance  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  ready  to  come 
up  in  the  moment  when  it  should  be  needed,  and  even 
now  unconsciously  giving  its  tone  to  all  his  thoughts  ; 
and  oh,  if  a  sand-grain  looks  small  when  you  compare 
it  with  a  mountain,  think  what  petty,  what  inconceiv 
ably  little,  insignificant  things  the  worries  of  daily  life 
would  be,  to  the  man  who  was  always  bearing  about 
with  him  the  dying  of  Jesus  Christ ! 

And  thus,  my  friends,  though  to  the  end  of  our  mor 
tal  life,  we  may  never  know  what  it  is  to  bear  physical 
sufferings  like  those  of  our  Blessed  Redeemer;  though 
at  the  last  we  may  lay  our  bodies  in  the  grave,  un 
marked  by  stripes  like  those  which  he  and  his  apostles 
bore  ;  and  though  our  cold  hand,  when  it  is  cold  at 
length,  may  moulder  into  clay,  unpierced  by  such  nails 
as  pierced  his  merciful  hands  ;  we  yet  may,  most  truly 
and  really,  bear  about  his  dying.  It  may  go  with  us, 
that  dying,  in  its  remembrance  and  its  influence,  affect 
ing  all  our  views  ;  leavening  and  transforming  all  our 
life.  And  when  a  few  days  or  years  are  gone,  and  we 
are  called  indeed  to  die  ;  when  the  heart,  pausing  for 
its  long  rest,  beats  feebly  and  slow,  and  the  cold  waters 
of  the  dark  river  seem  stealing  up  and  up  to  pass  over 
us  ;  oh  let  us  think,  to  comfort  and  support  us  then, 
that  we  are  faring  only  like  our  Master ;  that  in  this 
strange  trial  we  are  only  being  made  conformable  to 

9* 


202     BEARING  ABOUT  THE  DYING  OF  CHRIST. 

our  Saviour's  death  !  And  not^  we  may  humbly  ask 
and  hope,  —  not  quite  conformable  to  that.  For  not, 
we  may  humbly  ask  and  hope,  not  like  him,  in  tor 
ment  and  in  shame,  may  we  be  called  to  draw  our  last 
breath ;  but  on  our  quiet  bed ;  and  with  dear  friends 
by,  to  moisten  the  parching  lips,  and  to  smooth  the 
weary  pillow.  And  oh,  my  friends,  if  it  shall  please 
God  to  grant  us  that  peaceful  departure,  how  light  will 
our  burden  be  to  his ;  and  how  little  a  part  of  his  dy 
ing  shall  we  be  called  to  bear  ! 


XII. 

THE  INCONSISTENT  WORSHIP. 

"  They  feared  the  Lord,  and  served  their  own  gods." 
2  KINGS  xvii.  33. 

HE  ten  tribes  which  formed  the  kingdom 
of  Israel,  had  at  length  wearied  out  God's 
forbearance ;  and  God  gave  them  over  to 
the  hand  of  the  king  of  Assyria.  That 
monarch  took  Samaria,  and  carried  Israel  away  into  the 
land  of  Assyria,  where  they  remained  as  captives.  But 
the  Assyrian  king  did  not  choose  that  the  land  of  Is 
rael  should  remain  without  inhabitants  ;  and  so  he  col 
lected  a  motley  band  of  people  from  various  portions 
of  his  dominions,  and  sent  them  to  dwell  in  the  cities 
of  Samaria  instead  of  the  children  of  Israel.  But 
these  new-comers  did  not  find  themselves  comfortable. 
Through  the  country  having  lain  desolate  for  a  while, 
wild  beasts  had  multiplied ;  and  lions  came  and  slew 
some  of  them.  They  were  a  poor  ignorant  race,  that 
mixture  of  people  from  Babylon,  Cuthah,  Hamath, 
and  Sepharvaim  ;  but  though  they  were  ignorant,  and 
by  consequence  superstitious,  they  came  nearer  the 
truth  in  their  idea  as  to  the  reason  why  the  lions 


204  THE  INCONSISTENT  WORSHIP. 

came,  than  some  of  our  wise  men  nowadays,  who  re 
gard  any  interference  of  God  in  the  system  of  provi 
dence,  as   an    unwarrantable    intrusion.     These    poor 
ignorant  people  judged  that  God  had  sent  the  lions ; 
and  so  far  they  were  right.     But  they  went  wrong 
when  they  thought  that  the  Being  who  sent  the  lions 
was   a    God   specially   connected   with   the   land   of 
Samaria;  and  when  they  fancied  that  this  God  had 
his  own    peculiar   fancies,  ideas,  crotchets  ;  and  that 
he  was  angry  because  they  did  not  know  his  partic 
ular  way  of  thinking  and  feeling.     They  made  their 
complaint  to   the   king  who  had   sent  them  ;   and   a 
pitiful  story  it  was.     They  sent  him  word  that  they 
were  in  a  bad  way  ;   that   they  did   not  know  "  the 
manner  of  the  God  of  the  land ; "  and  so  that  he  had 
sent  lions  among  them,  who  slew  them  ;  because  they 
did  not   know  the   manner  of  the  God  of  the   land. 
Then  the  king  of  Assyria,  feeling  for  their  case ;  but 
with  little  sense,  we  may  be   sure,  of  the  depth  of 
meaning  there  was  in  that  poor,  sad,  helpless  wail  of 
ignorance  concerning  God  ;  gave  orders  to  send  back 
one  of  the  captive  priests,  that  he  might  give  the  new 
inhabitants  of  Samaria  the  information  they  needed ; 
—  that  he  might  "  teach  them  the  manner  of  the  God 
of  the  land."     The  priest  went ;  and  "  taught  them," 
we  are  told,  "  how  they  should  fear  the  Lord ; "  but 
he  must  have  taught  them  very  badly,  or  they  must 
have  learned  very  ill ;  for  the  plan  on  which  they  fell 
was  this.     Each  tribe  continued   to  worship  its  own 


THE  INCONSISTENT  WORSHIP.  205 

god,  the  idol  which  it  had  previously  worshipped ; 
and,  in  addition  to  this,  all  agreed  in  worshipping  the 
true  God  as  well.  The  men  of  Babylon  worshipped 
one  thing ;  the  men  of  Hamath  worshipped  another ; 
the  Avites  worshipped  a  third,  and  the  Sepharvites  a 
fourth  ;  they  kept  up  the  worship  of  the  old  familiar 
gods  to  which  they  had  grown  accustomed  away  in 
their  own  countries  ;  and  then,  in  addition  to  that, 
they  added  a  certain  amount  of  worship  to  this  pecul 
iar-tempered  "  God  of  the  land,"  with  whose  "  man 
ner  "  they  had  found  it  so  hard  to  get  acquainted. 
And  the  result  was,  that  matters  became  what  they  are 
described  as  being  in  that  short,  but  most  suggestive 
sentence  which  forms  my  text.  These  new-comers 
to  the  land  of  Samaria  "  feared  the  Lord,  and  served 
their  own  gods."  And  so  well  pleased  were  they 
with  this  compromise  between  truth  and  falsehood, 
between  God  and  Satan,  that  the  historian  that  wrote 
this  book  was  able  to  tell  us  they  had  kept  it  up  for 
three  hundred  years. 

If  that  singular  race  of  men  who  lived  many  hun 
dreds  of  years  ago  in  the  cities  of  Samaria  had  been 
the  only  race  that  ever  did  the  like  ;  if  there  were  no 
such  thing  known  among  us,  who  are  living  to-day  in 
Britain,  as  that  men  should  "  fear  the  Lord,  and  serve 
their  own  gods  ;  "  it  would  not  have  been  worth  while 
to  found  a  sermon  addressed  to  a  Christian  congrega 
tion  upon  such  a  text  as  that  which  I  have  chosen  for 
this  afternoon.  No  doubt,  it  would  still  have  been  a 


206  THE  INCONSISTENT  WORSHIP. 

curious  study,  the  conduct  and  character  of  those 
poor  superstitious  creatures,  whom  a  vague  undefined 
terror  of  Almighty  God  led  to  offer  him  a  little  share 
in  that  religious  worship  which  they  rendered  with  the 
heartiness  of  early  training  and  old  associations  to 
various  lying  idols ;  but  the  study  would  have  been 
more  curious  than  practical ;  and  I  suppose  that  most 
of  us  have  lived  too  long  to  be  much  surprised,  how 
ever  we  may  be  saddened,  at  the  sight  of  sincere, 
humble,  earnest,  honest  delusion  and  folly.  But  it  is 
different  when  we  remember  that  in  the  errors  and 
delusions  of  these  poor  benighted  beings,  we  may  see 
new  foes  with  an  old  face  ;  when  we  remember  that 
among  ourselves  there  are  hosts  of  men  who  are  doing 
the  self-same  thing  which  these  people  did  ;  when  we 
remember  that  in  the  heart  of  each  one  of  us  there  is 
an  inveterate  disposition  to  do  that  self-same  thing. 
Yes,  brethren,  this  subject  which  the  text  brings  up,  is 
as  fresh,  and  as  practically  important,  to-day,  as  it 
ever  was ;  and  in  asking  your  attention  for  a  little 
while  to  the  strange  phase  of  religious  feeling  which 
the  text  sets  before  you,  I  know  that  I  am  asking 
your  attention  to  a  matter  of  personal  concern  to  us 
all. 

The  first  thought  which  I  think  suggests  itself  to 
our  mind,  in  looking  at  the  statement  that  the  in 
habitants  of  the  Samaritan  cities  "  feared  the  Lord, 
and  served  their  own  gods ; "  is  of  the  curious  in 
consistency  of  their  conduct.  They  worshipped  the 


THE  INCONSISTENT  WORSHIP.  207 

true  God ;  and,  along  with  him,  they  worshipped 
various  false  gods.  Now,  this  seems  strange  to  us. 
We  cannot  imagine  a  man  being  at  once  a  Christian, 
a  Mohammedan,  a  Jew,  a  Heathen,  and  an  Atheist. 
You  must  make  your  choice  what  religion  you  will 
profess  j  you  cannot  profess  several  inconsistent  re 
ligions  together.  But,  my  brethren,  it  is  just  because 
Christianity  has  so  thoroughly  leavened  our  ways  of 
thinking,  that  there  appears  to  us  anything  strange 
in  the  conduct  of  these  inhabitants  of  Samaria.  For 
Christianity,  we  all  know,  is  an  exclusive  religion.  It 
not  merely  calls  men  to  believe  in  itself,  but  to  reject 
every  other  faith.  It  not  merely  claims  to  be  right 
and  true ;  but  it  boldly  says  that  every  other  faith  is 
wrong  and  false.  The  God  of  the  Bible  not  merely 
commands  us  to  worship  him  ;  he  commands  us  to 
worship  no  one  else.  His  very  first  commandment  is, 
"Thou  shalt  have  none  other  gods  before  me."  In 
short,  the  great  characteristic  of  Christianity,  and  of 
Judaism  which  preceded  it,  is,  that  they  are  exclusive 
religions.  This  is  their  great  characteristic  as  com 
pared  with  all  other  religions.  Christianity  is  a  faith 
which  admits  no  rivals,  no  competitors;  it  demands 
to  stand  alone.  And  the  true  God  is  not  the  God  of 
this  land  or  that  land ;  he  is  the  God  of  all  the  earth ; 
he  tolerates  no  brother  near  his  throne.  But  it  was 
not  so  at  all  with  the  gods  of  false  religions ;  with  the 
gods  whom  these  poor  Samaritans  worshipped ;  no, 
nor  with  the  gods  and  goddesses  who  were  worshipped 


208  THE  INCONSISTENT  WORSHIP. 

by  the  polished  nations  of  Greece  and  Rome.  It  did 
not  follow  that  because  you  held  Jupiter  to  be  a  true 
god,  you  held  Mercury  or  Apollo  to  be  false  gods.  It 
did  not  follow  because  you  worshipped  Dagon,  that 
you  failed  to  worship  Moloch.  It  did  not  follow  that 
Beelzebub  would  feel  himself  slighted,  because  you 
offered  a  sacrifice  to  Rimmon.  Each  false  god  had 
his  own  province,  and  he  held  by  that.  One  god  was 
in  prime  favor  in  Philistia,  another  in  Moab.  One 
god  ruled  the  sea,  another  the  air,  another  the  land, 
another  the  region  under  the  earth.  When  the  people 
at  Athens  or  Rome  heard  of  some  new  god,  who  was 
much  esteemed  in  some  distant  country,  and  who  was 
supposed  to  have  done  great  things  there ;  they  took 
his  claims  into  consideration;  they  inquired  whether 
he  deserved  divine  honors ;  and  if  they  concluded 
that  he  did,  they  added  him  to  their  long  list  of  gods  ; 
they  built  him  a  temple  and  appointed  him  priests 
and  sacrifices ;  and  all  this  without  the  least  idea  that 
they  were  trenching  on  the  vested  interests,  on  the 
rights  and  dignities,  of  the  gods  they  already  wor 
shipped.  And  so  you  can  see  that  these  ignorant 
Samaritans,  when  they  "  feared  the  Lord,  and  served 
their  own  gods,"  had  no  sense  at  all  of  the  inconsist 
ency,  —  of  the  self-contradiction,  —  of  what  they  did, 
such  as  that  which  we  might  feel.  In  all  simplicity 
they  imagined  that  in  coming  to  Samaria,  they  had 
entered  into  the  kingdom  of  a  new  god  ;  and  they 
judged  that  it  was  expedient  to  offer  him  such  wor- 


THE  INCONSISTENT  WORSHIP.  209 

ship  as  might  prevent  his  doing  them  mischief ;  but 
they  had  no  notion  at  all  of  giving  up  the  worship  of 
the  old,  familiar  idols,  which  they  had  worshipped  in 
their  distant  homes.  No ;  the  gods  would  get  on 
peaceably  together.  Tartak,  Nergal,  and  Moloch, 
were  still  quite  good  gods,  though  it  had  been  found 
expedient  to  add  to  their  number  one,  who  was  evi 
dently  regarded  as  a  rather  peculiar-tempered  god,  — 
one  whose  "  manner  "  it  was  not  very  easy  quite  to 
understand.  It  was  upon  this  principle  that  these 
poor  Samaritans  went ;  it  was  thus  they  judged,  and 
thus  they  acted. 

A  second  thing  worthy  of  notice  in  their  conduct 
is  this  :  the  motive  which  led  them  to  offer  worship 
to  the  true  God.  You  observe,  that  motive  was  pure 
and  simple  fear.  They  worshipped  God,  because  they 
were  afraid  of  him.  They  worshipped  him,  because 
they  thought  he  had  done  them  much  mischief  al 
ready  ;  and  because  they  thought  that  unless  they 
did  something  to  conciliate  him,  he  might  do  them 
more  mischief  yet.  They  came,  you  see,  from  their 
various  regions,  to  Samaria ;  they  settled  down  in  the 
abandoned  homes  which  the  mourning  Israelites  had 
lately  left ;  they  went  on  in  their  old  worship  of  their 
old  idols  ;  and  they  never  seem  to  have  cast  a  thought 
upon  the  God  of  the  tribes  they  had  supplanted,  till 
evil  befell  them.  Good  might  have  come,  in  any 
measure ;  and  they  would  never  have  seen  God  in 
that.  But  when  evil  befell  them,  such  was  their  con- 


210  THE  INCONSISTENT  WORSHIP. 

ception  of  the  Divine  nature,  they  said,  Now,  here  is 
the  finger  of  God.  The  lions  came  prowling  about 
their  fields  and  dwellings ;  and  this  neighbor  and 
the  other  was  devoured  by  them  ;  and  then  at  once 
their  thoughts  ran  up  to  a  God  as  the  sender  of  mis 
chief ;  that  was  all  they  knew  about  him  ;  and  they 
determined  to  worship  him,  not  because  he  was 
good  and  kind  and  deserving  of  all  worship  ;  but  be 
cause  unless  they  affected  some  measure  of  regard 
and  respect  for  him,  he  might  send  them  something 
worse  than  even  the  lions  who  had  already  come. 
They  thought  of  God,  in  short,  not  as  a  being  whose 
love  they  hoped  for,  but  as  a  being  whose  wrath  they 
dreaded.  Their  idea  of  the  Almighty,  was  of  an 
author  of  mischief;  one  who  had  sent  lions  already, 
and  who  might  send  worse  if  he  were  not  kept  quiet. 
And  thus  their  worship  was  in  truth  devil-worship, 
and  not  God-worship  ;  for  the  essence  of  devil-worship 
lies  in  offering  worship  to  a  being  not  because  you 
love  him,  but  because  you  are  afraid  of  him  ;  not 
because  you  hope  any  good  from  him,  but  because 
you  fear  much  harm  from  him.  They  could  not 
possibly,  these  men,  have  any  love  for  a  Being  of 
whom  their  entire  idea  was  that  he  had  sent  the 
savage  beasts  who  had  torn  their  friends  and  their 
children  ;  they  could  not  possibly  join  in  his  worship 
with  any  pleasure  or  any  heart ;  the  language  of  their 
hearts  never  could  be,  "  How  amiable  are  thy  taber 
nacles,  O  Lord  of  hosts  ! "  It  would  rather  be,  How- 


THE  INCONSISTENT  WORSHIP.  211 

ever  disagreeable  thy  tabernacles,  however  unpleasant 
thy  worship,  we  must  perforce  submit  to  that,  for  fear 
of  something  worse. 

And  this  leads  us  to  the  third  matter  which  I  wish 
to  suggest  to  you,  as  worthy  of  notice  in  the  conduct 
of  the  people  of  whom  we  are  thinking.  It  is  evident 
from  the  entire  account  of  them,  that  the  worship 
which  they  paid  to  the  true  God  was  not  nearly  so 
hearty  and  real  a  thing  as  that  which  they  paid  to 
their  old  idols.  "  They  feared  the  Lord  ;  "  they  stood 
in  a  vague  terror  of  him,  which  prompted  them  to 
offer  him  a  sacrifice  now  and  then  ;  to  meet  for  his 
•worship  now  and  then ;  but  "  they  served  their  own 
gods  ;  —  they  lived  day  by  day  in  mind  of  them  ;  they 
were  not  merely  the  worshippers,  at  long  intervals,  of 
these  false  gods  ;  they  were  the  servants  of  these  false 
gods,  —  obeying  them,  working  for  them,  from  hour  to 
hour.  When  the  two  things  came  together  ;  the  wor 
ship  of  a  Being  from  whom  they  simply  feared  eyil, 
and  the  worship  of  beings  from  whom  they  expected 
good ;  you  can  easily  see  which  of  the  two  would 
have  the  predominance.  You  can  easily  see  which 
would  always  have  to  give  way  to  the  other,  in  case 
of  any  conflict  between  the  two.  You  can  easily  see 
that  the  problem  which  the  sharp-witted  man  among 
these  Samaritans  would  set  himself  to  solve,  would  be 
this :  to  find  the  minimum  of  worship  which  would 
satisfy  the  true  God  ;  to  find  the  very  smallest  amount 
of  reverence  and  service  that  would  just  keep  him 


212  THE  INCONSISTENT   WORSHIP. 

from  doing  them  any  mischief.  The  best  they  looked 
for  from  him,  was  to  refrain  from  doing  them  harm  ; 
and  the  worship  which  would  barely  suffice  to  get 
him  to  refrain  from  doing  them  harm,  was  all  that  a 
prudent  and  economical  man  would  think  of  render 
ing.  But  it  was  quite  different  with  regard  to  their 
false  gods.  From  them  they  hoped  good,  as  well  as 
feared  evil.  And  in  their  case  the  astute  Samaritan 
would  think  it  judicious  to  offer  a  very  great  amount 
of  worship,  because  he  would  think  that,  the  more 
worship  he  gave,  the  more  good  he  would  get.  A 
little  worship  was  needed,  for  a  beginning,  to  make 
sure  that  these  gods  should  not  harm  him ;  and  then 
any  extra  worship,  beyond  that  point,  would  go  tow 
ards  making  sure  that  they  should  bless  him.  In 
short,  my  friends,  the  worship  prompted  by  fear  will 
be  the  very  least  that  will  do.  But  as  for  the  worship 
prompted  by  hope  and  love,  there  is  no  limit  to  that. 
No  part  of  it  could  be  regarded  as  thrown  away ;  it 
would  all  be  of  use.  Now,  the  great  laws  of  human 
thought  will  in  the  long  run  sway  the  belief  and  the 
practice  of  even  the  dullest  minds  ;  and  so  these  poor, 
ignorant,  superstitious  Samaritans  had  still  penetra 
tion  enough  to  see  in  what  quarter,  according  to  their 
ideas  of  Almighty  God  and  of  their  own  false  deities, 
their  worship  would  be  most  profitably  invested. 
Accordingly,  they  carried  out  their  views  to  their 
natural  and  logical  conclusion :  "  They  feared  the 
Lord,  and  served  their  own  gods." 


THE  INCONSISTENT  WORSHIP.  213 

Such,  my  friends,  are  the  great  characteristic  fea 
tures  of  the  conduct  of  the  people  spoken  of  in  the 
text.  And  in  order  that  their  way  of  thinking  and 
acting  might  be  set  before  you  with  greater  clearness, 
I  have  pointed  out  to  you  these  characteristic  features 
without  interrupting  the  line  of  thought  by  any  refer 
ence  to  ourselves,  and  to  our  own  ways  of  thinking 
and  acting.  But  now,  brethren,  let  us  seek  to  give  a 
practical  bearing  to  all  this  that  has  been  said.  Let 
us  look  back  upon  the  errors  of  these  Samaritans,  so 
many  centuries  ago ;  let  us  see  whether  human  nature 
be  not  now  very  much  what  it  was  then  ;  let  us  see 
whether  we  ourselves,  and  many  around  us,  are  not, 
day  by  day,  falling  into  the  like  errors  ;  or  at  least 
tempted  to  the  like  errors  still. 

The  Samaritans  did  not  see  that  it  was  inconsistent 
to  worship  the  true  God,  and  at  the  same  time  to 
worship  false  gods  ;  they  did  not  remember,  because 
they  never  had  been  taught,  that  the  true  God  claims 
to  reign  alone  ;  that  he  does  not  regard  himself  as 
worshipped  at  all,  if  any  other  being  is  worshipped 
along  with  him.  Now,  my  friends,  we  have  not  the 
excuse  which  the  Samaritans  had  ;  we  quite  under 
stand  how  exclusive  is  the  worship  which  our  God 
claims  for  himself;  but  is  it  not  sadly  true  that  day 
by  day  we  are  all  too  much  disposed  to  combine  his 
worship  with  other  worship,  —  to  "  fear  the  Lord  and 
serve  our  own  gods  "  ?  Ah,  brethren,  many  a  profess- 


214  THE  INCONSISTENT  WORSHIP, 

ing  Christian  is  trying  in  his  entire  life  to  do  the  very 
thing  which  the  Saviour  said  could  not  be  done,  — 
to  "  serve  God  and  Mammon."  There  is  many  a 
man  who  has  that  degree  of  superstitious  fear  of  what 
God  may  do  to  him,  that  he  dare  not  cast  off  God's 
fear  altogether ;  while  yet  the  love  of  money,  or  the 
love  of  pleasure,,  or  the  love  of  eminence  and  honor, 
really  sits  upon  the  throne  of  his  heart!  He  "fears 
the  Lord  ; "  and  at  the  same  time  he  thinks  to  "  serve 
his  own  gods,"  —  wealth,  pleasure,  or  ambition.  Of 
course,  the  days  of  stock  and  stone  idolatry  are  past, 
at  least  in  this  country ;  but  who  needs  to  be  told 
that  idols  are  worshipped  in  Britain  yet,  as  truly  as 
idols  ever  were  worshipped  at  Babylon  or  Samaria  ? 
The  essence  of  idolatry  is  there,  whether  a  man  casts 
his  gold  into  an  image  and  bows  down  to  it ;  or  only 
leaves  it  in  the  form  of  a  balance  at  his  banker's,  or 
invests  it  in  the  Funds ;  and  then  makes  it  the  first 
thing  in  his  heart  and  thoughts.  Not,  my  friends, 
that  this  view  should  be  pushed  to  any  fanatical  ex 
treme.  Not  that  Christianity  requires  of  us  to  set  no 
value  at  all  upon  earthly  good,  or  to  refuse  to  give  to 
those  we  love  any  affection  at  all.  That  is  asceticism, 
monasticism  ;  it  is  not  Christianity.  The  requirements 
of  Christianity  are  always  characterized,  among  other 
things,  by  sound,  practical  common-sense.  They  are 
always  workable.  They  will  always  do  in  actual  life. 
What  Christianity  requires  is,  that  God  should  be 
supreme  in  the  heart ;  that  nothing  else  should  ever 


THE  INCONSISTENT  WORSHIP.  215 

be  put  on  a  level  with  him  ;  that  he  should  reign  in 
the  soul  as  he  does  in  the  universe,  alone,  with  all 
things  else  at  an  immeasurable  distance  beneath  his 
feet.  And  the  great  practical  test  whether  this  is  so 
or  not,  is,  whether  in  the  event  of  our  duty  to  God 
coming  in  competition  with  our  obtaining  any  worldly 
profit  or  pleasure  or  advantage  of  any  kind,  the 
worldly  advantage  has  always  and  at  once  to  give 
way.  Say  you  have  it  in  your  power  to  gain  some 
money  by  doing  something  dishonest ;  by  telling  what 
is  not  true  to  your  neighbor,  or  by  overreaching  him 
in  any  way.  Now,  my  friend,  if  you  admit  for  one 
moment  the  idea  of  doing  the  unfair  thing  for  the 
sake  of  the  profit  that  may  come  of  it ;  you  are  for 
that  moment  weighing  with  yourself  whether  you 
may  not  succeed  in  doing  what  the  Samaritans  did, 
—  "  fearing  the  Lord,"  and  at  the  same  time  "  serving 
your  own  god,"  —  your  god  in  this  case  being  Mam 
mon.  The  fraudulent  trader  who  adulterates  his 
wares,  and  yet  is  never  out  of  church  on  a  Sunday ; 
the  greedy  farmer,  who  will  tell  many  lies  to  get  a 
sound  price  for  a  lame  horse,  yet  who  would  not  on 
any  consideration  be  absent  from  a  sacrament ;  and  I 
say  it  with  sorrow,  brethren,  I  have  known  several 
such  ;  what  are  such  men  doing  but  what  the  Samari 
tans  did :  "  fearing  the  Lord,  and  serving  their  own 
gods!" 


And  this  brings  us  to  the  second  thing  we  remarked 


216  THE  INCONSISTENT  WORSHIP. 

as  worthy  of  notice  in  the  conduct  of  the  Samaritans : 
they  worshipped  the  true  God,  because  they  were 
afraid  he  would  do  them  harm  unless  they  worshipped 
him.  Their  motive  in  worshipping  God  was  not  love, 
but  fear.  And,  O  brethren,  is  it  not  sadly  true,  that 
there  is  too  much  of  the  same  thing  among  ourselves  ? 
Are  not  very  many  professing  Christians  constrained 
to  make  some  little  profession  of  religion,  and  to  pay 
some  little  regard  to  religious  duties  and  observances, 
just  by  a  superstitious  fear  that  something  will  happen 
to  them  if  they  do  not,  —  that  God  will  send  some  evil 
upon  them  if  they  do  not  ?  Is  it  not  so,  that  all  of  us 
have  known  what  it  is  to  do  some  religious  duty  for 
no  better  reason  ?  When  we  were  weary  and  had  lit 
tle  heart  for  it,  and  would  rather  have  escaped  it,  have 
we  not  sometimes  uttered  some  formal,  heartless  words 
of  prayer,  because  we  were  afraid  to  omit  them  ;  be 
cause  we  feared  something  ill  would  happen  to  us,  if 
we  did  not  interpose  this  perfunctory  performance  of 
duty  —  a  duty  that  is  worth  nothing  if  it  be  done  per 
functorily  —  between  us  and  the  anger  of  God  !  Ah, 
brethren,  it  is  deep-set  in  human  nature,  the  disposi 
tion  to  serve  God  from  the  wrong  motive,  and  to  re 
gard  him  from  the  wrong  point  of  view.  It  is  deep- 
set  in  our  fallen  nature,  the  disposition  to  think  of 
God  as  a  being  from  whom  we  dread  evil  rather  than 
as  one  from  whom  we  hope  good  ;  and  the  disposition 
to  worship  him  rather  from  fear  than  from  love.  But 
surely  you  do  not  need  to  be  reminded  what  an  un- 


THE  INCONSISTENT   WORSHIP.  217 

Christian  way  that  is  of  looking  at  God  ;  what  a  hea 
thenish  motive  that  is  for  serving  God  !  Who  can 
forget  what  Christ  told  us  was  the  first  and  great 
commandment  of  God's  law  ?  Not,  Thou  shalt  dread 
God,  be  afraid  of  God,  crouch  and  tremble  and  shud 
der  at  the  name  of  God  ;  no,  far  from  that :  "  Thou 
shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart,  and 
with  all  thy  soul,  and  with  all  thy  mind  ! "  That  is 
Christian  worship ;  that  is  the  grand  motive  that  should 
prompt  to  the  worship  of  the  Christian's  God  !  Under 
the  dispensation  of  the  Cross,  the  terrors  of  the  law  may 
still  be  rightly  used  to  awaken  men  from  utter  careless 
ness  as  to  their  soul's  salvation  ;  you  may  rightly  im 
press  it  upon  them,  that  away  from  Jesus,  God  is  to  the 
sinner  "  a  consuming  fire  ; "  but  once  driven  to  "  flee 
from  the  wrath  to  come  ;  "  —  once  led  to  Jesus  ;  — 
once  united  by  living  faith  to  that  kind,  loving  Sav 
iour,  —  oh,  it  is  love  and  not  terror  that  leads  the 
Christian  on  !  The  mere  dread  of  hell,  I  make  bold 
to  say  it,  has  in  the  heart  of  the  earnest  believer, 
walking  humbly  with  his  God  and  leaning  simply  on 
his  Redeemer,  really  no  appreciable  weight  at  all.  It 
is  not  because  sin  ends  in  ruin,  that  he  hates  sin  so 
much  ;  it  is  because  sin  bound  his  gracious  Saviour  to 
the  accursed  tree  !  It  is  not  because  he  dreads  final 
perdition,  that  he  strives  daily  against  sin,  and  seeks 
daily  the  aids  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  and  strives  ever  to 
lay  up  his  treasure  on  high  ;  it  is  because  he  longs 
for  his  blessed  Lord's  gracious  presence,  because  he 
10 


218  THE  INCONSISTENT  WORSHIP. 

pants  for  the  day  when  sin  and  sorrow  shall  be  done 
with,  because  he  thirsts  for  the  time  when  he  shall 
enter  on  the  blessed  rest  of  God  !  We  did  not  come 
here  to-day,  my  friends,  because  we  were  afraid  of 
God ;  we  "  worship  him  in  fear,"  indeed ;  but  it  is 
no  slavish  fear  ;  we  are  not  within  these  walls,  a 
crouching,  panic-stricken,  shivering  crew,  as  driven  by 
the  slave-driver's  lash,  in  pure  abject  terror  that  God 
would  send  some  terrible  judgment  upon  us  if  we 
failed  to  present  ourselves  in  his  house,  and  to  go 
through  some  form  of  his  worship.  No,  we  have 
come  to  the  kind  merciful  God  who  loves  us,  as 
children  might  gather  at  a  parent's  knee ;  we  have 
come  to  One  who  so  loved  us  as  to  give  his  son  to 
die  for  us ;  we  have  come  to  worship  One  who  wills 
not  that  any  should  perish,  but  that  all  should  believe 
and  live  ;  we  have  come  to  tell  of  all  our  wants  that 
he  may  supply  them,  and  to  confess  all  our  sins  that 
he  may  wash  them  all  away ;  we  have  come  to  ask 
strength  for  our  work,  and  comfort  in  our  sorrows, 
and  heart  for  our  weary  way.  And  when  we  look  up 
to  him,  we  see  nothing  of  which  to  be  afraid.  The 
invisible  God,  indeed,  eludes  our  sight ;  but  we  can 
see  him  in  a  gracious  face  we  know  well ;  with  the 
eye  of  faith  we  can  see  a  gentle,  loving  countenance 
looking  down  on  us,  with  eyes  that  for  us  have  been 
dim  with  tears  !  We  see  the  "  glory  of  God  in  the' 
face  of  Jesus  Christ ; "  we  can  trust  our  souls  to  his 
blessed  keeping  ;  we  can  worship  and  serve  him 


THE  INCONSISTENT  WORSHIP.  219 

"whom  having  not  seen  we  love;"  —  and  love  with 
out  a  fear ! 

And  finally,  my  friends,  you  remember  that  the 
last  thing  we  remarked  in  the  conduct  of  the  Samari 
tans  was,  that  it  was  plain  they  were  far  more  hearty 
in  serving  their  own  gods,  from  whom  they  expected 
good,  than  in  serving  the  Almighty,  from  whom  they 
only  dreaded  ill.  And  who  needs  to  be  told  that  in 
this  respect,  too,  many  professing  Christians  exactly 
resemble  them  ?  Indeed,  my  brethren,  by  the  very 
nature  of  things,  the  three  things  mentioned  as  re 
markable  in  the  Samaritans  will  always  go  together. 
If  you,  like  them,  try  to  combine  the  worship  of  God 
with  the  service  of  Mammon,  or  Pleasure,  or  Ambi 
tion  ;  you  will  soon  find  that  any  worship  you  can 
spare  for  the  true  God,  you  are  giving,  just  for  fear 
that  some  mischief  will  happen  you  if  you  do  not  take 
means  to  pacify  him ;  and  you  will  soon  find,  too,  that 
your  worship  of  God  is  a  very  chilly  and  heartless 
thing  when  compared  with  your  service  of  your 
worldly '  idol.  The  avaricious  man ;  the  dishonest 
man  ;  the  over-ambitious  man  ;  even  if  for  fear  of  evil 
he  keeps  up  some  kind  of  worship  of  God,  —  will  find 
that  God  is  always  growing  less  in  his  heart,  and 
money  or  eminence  growing  more  ;  will  know  quite 
well  that  if  he  were  free  to  act  as  inclination  leads 
him,  he  would  give  up  the  sham  of  worshipping  God 
at  all,  and  openly  give  his  worship  where  he  has  al 
ready  given  his  heart.  It  is  a  fact  about  which  there 
can  be  no  doubt,  that  if  a  man  tries  to  worship  God 


220  THE  INCONSISTENT  WORSHIP. 

and  Mammon  together,  Mammon  will  always  have 
the  advantage  ;  Mammon  will  always  have  the  pre 
eminence,  and  the  chief  share  of  service.  If  you  try 
to  "fear  the  Lord,  and  serve  your  own  gods,"  then  in 
the  long  run,  your  own  gods  will  get  all  your  service, 
and  the  Almighty  will  get  none,  —  or,  if  any,  then  the 
very  least  thing  that  you  think  will  keep  him  quiet. 
You  know  that,  my  friends.  Your  prayers  will  always 
get  shorter,  —  your  attendance  at  church  more  irregu 
lar  and  more  heartless,  —  your  reading  of  the  Bible  a 
more  wearisome  task.  Your  conscience  will  always 
become  more  easily  pacified ;  the  worship  of  your 
earthly  idols  will  eat  up  the  worship  of  your  God; 
and  some  day  you  may  remember  with  a  start,  that 
weeks  have  passed  since  you  knelt  in  prayer,  or  since 
you  opened  God's  word ;  that  the  care  of  your  soul 
and  of  eternity,  long  pushed  as  it  were  into  a  corner 
of  your  time,  can  now  find  no  time  at  all ! 

O  brethren,  may  God  grant  to  us,  to  make  religion 
the  first  thing  ;  to  give  God  the  first  place  !  "We  may 
work,  we  must  work,  for  many  things  ;  but  may  we 
never  forget  that  there  is  "  one  thing  needful !  "  And 
so  shall  we  be  enabled  to  escape  that  error  described 
in  our  text ;  an  error  as  natural  to  human  beings 
now,  as  when  men  six-and-twenty  hundred  years  since 
"  feared  the  Lord,  and  served  their  own  gods."  So 
shall  we  be  enabled,  in  a  nobler  sense  than  that  in 
which  he  wrote  them,  to  take  up  the  poet's  words :  to 
"  fear  our  God,  and  know  no  other  fear  !  " 


XIII. 

THE    VAGUENESS    AND     ENDLESSNESS     OF 
HUMAN  ASPIRATIONS. 

"  And  I  said,  Oh  that  I  had  wings  like  a  dove !  for  then  would  I 
fly  away,  and  be  at  rest."  — PSALM  Iv.  6. 

DO  not  know,  my  friends,  where  I  could 
find  more  convincing  proof  of  the  essential 
identity  of  human  nature  now,  with  hu 
man  nature  thousands  of  years  since,  than 
we  find  in  these  words.  The  words  are  very  ancient ; 
but  their  spirit  is  perfectly  modern.  These  words 
were  centuries  old,  in  the  days  when  this  country  was 
a  savage  wilderness,  peopled  by  more  savage  men  ; 
and  yet,  they  have  quite  the  ring  of  the  latter  half  of 
the  nineteenth  century  after  Christ.  Here  we  find 
David,  king  and  psalmist,  involved  in  some  of  those 
many  sorrows  and  troubles  which  we  may  be  glad 
he  passed  through  ;  some  of  those  many  sorrows  and 
troubles  which  fitted  him  for  writing  those  sacred 
poems  which  come  so  home  to  our  hearts,  and  which 
seem  to  suit  our  own  case  and  describe  our  own  feel 
ings  so  well.  Here  we  find  the  psalmist  and  king  in 
great  perplexity  and  grief  and  fear.  The  first  of 
modern  essayists  has  said  that  the  great  characteristic 


222         THE  VAGUENESS  AND  ENDLESSNESS 

of  modern  life  is  worry ;  but  it  should  seem  from  the 
text  that  it  was  the  great  characteristic  of  ancient  life 
too  ;  for  if  there  ever  was  such  a  thing  in  this  world, 
here  we  have  the  utterance  of  a  thoroughly  worried 
man.  And  see  what  he  says.  From  the  midst  of 
endless  and  countless  cares,  fears,  and  griefs,  he 
wearily  looks  up  ;  he  plainly  sees  that  where  he  is, 
the  day  will  never  come  in  which  cares,  griefs,  and 
fears  will  not  still  surround  him ;  and  so  he  bursts 
out  into  a  vague,  hopeless,  yet  passionate  cry,  —  he 
cannot  clearly  say  for  what,  —  but  only  that  he  might 
get  away  to  some  place,  —  he  does  not  know  where, 
—  in  which  these  should  be  done  with  forever !  Ah, 
the  vague  aspirations  and  longings  of  human  nature,  — 
only  to  define  them,  only  to  try  and  get  them  into  a 
tangible  shape,  makes  us  feel  how  vain  and  foolish 
they  are.  The  psalmist  wanted,  he  did  not  well 
know  what ;  —  but  only  to  get  away  from  here.  He 
knew  he  was  not  at  rest  where  he  was ;  he  felt  that 
he  never  would  be  at  rest  there ;  and  he  breaks  out 
into  words  which  seem  mistily  to  mean  that  he  fan 
cied  there  surely  was,  somewhere,  some  happy  island 
where  he  might  find  peace  and  rest  at  last.  My 
friends,  I  spoke  of  the  essentially  modern  tone  of 
that  fancy  as  proving  how  like  we  are  now  to  what 
King  David  was  centuries  ago,  —  as  proving  that  man 
is  always  essentially  the  same.  Do  you  not  remember 
that  when  the  greatest  living  poet  wishes  to  set  before 
us  a  human  being  of  this  age,  restlessly  dissatisfied 


OF  HUMAN  ASPIRATIONS.  223 

and  disappointed,  he  puts  upon  his  lips  words  which 
look  almost  like  an  expansion  of  the  vague  aspiration 
of  the  psalmist ;  he  represents  Mm  too,  as  confusedly 
wishing  that  he  could  get  anywhere  away  from  where 
he  was  ;  he  makes  him  vaguely  long  to  burst  all  links 
of  civilized  habit,  to  leave  all  traces  of  civilized  man 
behind  him,  to  fly  to  distant  seas  where  an  European 
flag  never  floated,  as  though  thus  he  could  cast  off" 
the  burden  of  his  cares  and  of  himself!  And  no 
doubt,  we  can  all  sometimes  sympathize  with  the 
fancy.  No  doubt,  it  must  be  accepted  as  an  unques 
tionable  fact,  that  the  many  advantages  of  civiliza 
tion  are  to  be  obtained  only  at  the  price  of  countless 
and  ceaseless  worry.  No  doubt,  we  must  all  some 
times  sigh  for  the  woods  and  the  wigwam ;  but  the 
feeling  is  as  vain  as  that  of  the  psalmist's  wearied 
aspiration  in  the  text  The  modern  poet,  indeed, 
shows  us  one  point  of  difference  between  ancient  and 
modern  modes  of  thought ;  he  makes  the  man  whom 
he  describes  analyze  his  feeling  and  his  wish,  and  see 
for  himself  how  vain  they  are  ;  he  makes  him  confess 
that  his  words  are  wild,  and  that  they  set  out  no  more 
than  a  dream  and  a  fancy.  Here,  indeed,  we  can 
discern  that  the  psalmist  was  of  an  earlier  age,  and 
an  earlier  period  in  human  development.  He  merely 
records  what  his  feeling  was  ;  he  does  not  stop  to 
analyze  and  examine  it ;  for  all  he  tells  us,  the  vague 
feeling  might  have  remained  with  him  yet,  that  once 
you  gave  him  the  swift  wings,  he  would  know  where 


224         THE  VAGUENESS  AND  ENDLESSNESS 

to  fly  with  them  ;  —  that  once  he  had  "  wandered  far 
off,"  he  could  •"  remain  in  the  wilderness,"  and  be 
quite  peaceful  and  content  at  last.  But  it  is  just 
this  thing,  which  makes  the  aspiration  in  the  text  one 
so  practically  profitable  for  us  to  think  of;  it  is  just 
because  in  its  vagueness,  its  unreasonableness,  its  end 
lessness,  it  is  so  accurate  a  type  of  the  endlessness 
and  the  vagueness  of  human  aspirations.  Oh,  give 
the  psalmist  the  swift  wings ;  and  whither  could  he 
fly  ?  Give  him  all  the  universe  to  choose  from  ;  and 
where  would  he  find  the  place  where  he  could  be  at 
rest  ?  Give  men  all  this  world  could  yield  them  ;  tell 
men  that  for  the  naming  it,  they  shall  have  every  wish 
gratified  to  the  utmost,  that  begins  and  ends  on  this 
world  and  this  life ;  and  they  will  be  as  far  from  rest 
for  their  weary  souls  as  ever.  And,  thank  God,  we 
know  the  reason  why.  It  is  because  "  this  is  not  our 
rest."  It  was  because  God  had  unalterably  fixed  and 
appointed,  that  worldly  things  alone  can  never  make 
the  soul  of  man  permanently  happy.  You  think  to 
make  yourself  content  and  happy  without  the  good 
part  in  Christ,  and  the  reconciled  love  of  God  in  him  ; 
you  cannot ;  it  is  impossible.  God  says  No  to  that ; 
it  cannot  be  done.  If  you  think  and  try  to  find  real 
rest  for  your  soul  away  from  God  in  Christ ;  if  you 
think  to  be  really  happy  away  from  Christ ;  you  are 
thinking  and  trying  to  do  what,  by  the  make  of  your 
being,  is  impossible.  You  might  as  well  think  to 
quench  the  thirst  of  the  parched  throat  with  sand,  as 


OF  HUMAN  ASPIRATIONS.  225 

to  satisfy  man's  thirst  for  happiness  with  anything 
merely  worldly.  You  are  in  the  wrong  course  alto 
gether,  when  you  try  to  do  that.  And  when  you 
think  to  do  it,  you  are  doing  something  as  natural,  as 
endless,  as  hopeless,  as  the  Jewish  monarch  thought 
to  do,  when  in  a  world  which  has  no  corner,  no  field, 
no  seclusion,  no  station,  no  life,  that  could  give  him 
rest,  he  fancied  he  could  find  rest  if  he  could  but  fly 
far  enough  away  from  the  sorrows  that  were  plucking 
at  him  where  he  was  ;  when  he  said,  "  Oh  that  I  had 
wings  like  a  dove !  for  then  would  I  fly  away,  and  be 
at  rest." 

Yes,  my  friends ;  it  is  a  most  practical,  and  a  most 
important  subject,  for  us  to  think  of  to-day,  that  this 
text  brings  before  us.  For  it  would  be  our  salvation, 
if  we  could  only  feel  and  realize  the  fact,  that  this 
world  is  not  our  rest ;  and  that  only  in  God,  as  we 
see  him  in  the  face  of  Christ,  can  we  find  rest  and 
peace,  and  that  which  shall  truly  satisfy  our  weary 
and  thirsting  souls.  For,  after  all,  it  is  the  love  of 
this  world  that  stands  between  most  men,  and  their 
seeking  to  go  to  Jesus  and  believe  in  him  ;  and  if 
you  could  only  get  them  to  feel  it  in  their  hearts  that 
this  world  will  not  do,  —  that  this  world  cannot  give 
us  rest,  —  it  would  be  a  vast  step  in  the  direction  of 
honestly  seeking  to  lay  up  their  treasure  in  a  better. 
Now  it  is  just  by  vague  fancies,  like  that  of  the 
psalmist,  that  men  encourage  themselves  to  go  on 
setting  their  hearts  on  earthly  things,  and  never  really 
10* 


226         THE  VAGUENESS  AND  ENDLESSNESS 

striving  to  win  the  good  part  in  Christ  with  the  same 
real  intention  and  industry  with  which  they  strive  to 
gain  some  worldly  advantage.  When  human  beings 
meet  with  disappointments,  cares,  anxieties,  bereave 
ments  ;  when  they  find  how  different  a  thing  daily 
worry  has  made  of  life  from  what  they  had  antici 
pated  in  the  bright  dreams  of  childhood  ;  when  they 
are  constrained  to  feel,  day  by  day,  that  they  are  not 
happy,  that  they  cannot  be  happy,  that  there  is  always 
something  happening  to  vex  them,  and  keep  them 
from  being  happy,  —  instead  of  learning  the  lesson 
which  God  is  teaching  them  by  all  this,  that  they 
ought  not  to  set  their  heart  on  things  here,  that  they 
ought  to  seek  for  that  one  thing  needful  which  will 
never  disappoint,  that  they  ought  to  seek  for  rest  in 
Jesus,  where  alone  it  is  to  be  found,  —  instead  of  doing 
all  this,  they  do  something  exactly  analogous  to  what 
the  psalmist  did ;  they  fancy  that  there  is  some  time 
if  not  some  place  in  this  world  to  which  if  they  could 
fly  away,  they  would  be  at  rest ;  they  bear  up  under 
the  worries  of  present  time  in  some  vague  hope  that 
better  days  are  coming,  —  days  in  which  there  will  be 
no  more  of  these  little  fretting  cares,  these  heavy  dis 
appointments,  these  crushing  bereavements,  that  weigh 
upon  the  present;  days  that  shall  pass  unanxiously, 
peacefully,  happily  ;  and  in  which  this  world  will,  not 
perhaps  satisfy  our  early  anticipations  of  it,  but  at 
least  come  up  to  the  moderate  hopes  of  maturer 
years,  and  afford  the  soul  something  like  content  and 


OF  HUMAN  ASPIRATIONS.  227 

quiet  happiness  at  last.  Oh,  brethren,  that  we  could 
once  for  all  get  rid  of  this  false  notion,  —  a  notion 
which  does  so  much  to  keep  our  hearts  in  slavery  to 
the  things  of  sense  and  time  !  Oh  that  we  could 
really  feel  that  it  is  as  vain  a  fancy,  to  believe  that 
future  years  will  bring  rest  with  them,  as  the  psalm 
ist's,  that  once  far  away  in  the  wilderness,  he  would 
be  at  rest !  The  days  to  come  will  do  no  more  for  us, 
than  the  dove's  wings  and  the  desert  would  have  done 
for  him.  Coming  days  may  and  will  do  for  us  just 
what  the  wings  would  have  done  for  the  wearied  mon 
arch  ;  —  they  will  no  doubt  bear  us  away  from  the 
trials  and  troubles  that  now  surround  us,  —  that  are 
present  now ;  —  but  they  will  only  bear  us  to  other 
trials  and  troubles  that  are  awaiting  us  then.  Oh, 
brethren,  that  we  could  lay  it  to  heart,  that  the  day 
will  never  come  in  which  there  will  not  be  something 
to  vex  and  weary  ;  the  day  will  never  come  in  which 
everything  will  go  as  we  would  wish  ;  the  day  will 
never  come  in  this  world  that  will  make  the  soul 
happy  and  complete ;  and  all  this  just  because  God 
does  not  intend  that  such  a  day  should  ever  come ; 
all  this  because  this  world  was  never  meant  for  our 
rest ;  and  whenever  it  is  beginning  to  grow  too  like 
our  rest,  God  will  send  us  something  to  remind  us  that 
it  is  not ;  all  this  because  these  immortal  souls  within 
us  are  not  to  be  put  off  with  any  worldly  aim  or 
worldly  enjoyment,  —  but  will  ever  reach  and  blindly 
long  after  something  as  immortal  as  themselves !  It 


228        THE  VAGUENESS  AND  ENDLESSNESS 

was  not  a  piece  of  mystical  piety,  but  a  plain,  certain, 
philosophic  truth,  that  sentence  of  the  ancient  African 
bishop,  written  more  than  a  thousand  years  since: 
"  Thou  madest  us  for  Thyself,"  —  thus  he  addressed 
his  Maker,  —  "  and  our  souls  are  restless,  till  they  find 
rest  in  Thee !  " 

The  wings  and  the  wilderness  would  not  have  made 
the  psalmist  happy ;  and  no  imaginable  worldly  bless 
ings  will  ever  suffice  to  make  us  so.  The  only  real 
rest  that  the  soul  of  man  can  ever  know,  is  that  which 
is  given  by  him  who  said,  "  Come  unto  Me,  all  ye  that 
labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest." 
And  not  even  that  rest,  given  by  the  Redeemer  to 
his  own,  is  perfect  in  this  present  life ;  the  best  be 
liever's  heart  will  be  many  a  time  disquieted  and  per 
plexed,  so  long  as  he  abides  here.  "  There  remaineth 
a  rest  for  the  people  of  God."  It  remaineth ;  it  is 
waiting  for  them;  far  away.  My  dear  friends,  this 
is  not  our  rest ;  our  rest  is  beyond  the  grave.  We 
are  but  "  strangers  and  pilgrims  upon  earth ; "  and 
heaven  is  our  home.  And  it  is  only  our  Saviour's 
presence  that  can  make  us  happy.  God  has  made  us 
so  that  we  never  shall  be  right,  till  we  are  "  forever 
with  the  Lord  ! "  It  is  not  the  quiet  country,  that 
will  give  all  the  rest  he  needs  to  the  jaded  man  of 
business  in  the  great  city.  It  is  not  the  longed-for 
breathing  space,  the  longed-for  leisure,  that  is  all 
which  is  needed  by  the  over-driven  brain.  It  is  not 
the  home  fireside,  and  the  cheerful  domestic  circle, 


OF  HUMAN  ASPIRATIONS.  229 

that  is  all  the  lonely  wanderer  needs  to  give  him  rest. 
It  is  not  money  that  will  really  satisfy  the  soul  of  the 
man  who  works  hardest  for  it ;  it  is  not  high  station 
and  eminent  fame  that  will  truly  enable  even  the  most 
ambitious  man  to  sit  down  and  feel  himself  perfectly 
content  at  last.  There  will  always  be  something  want 
ing  ;  always  some  vague  idea  like  the  psalmist's,  that  if 
he  had  but  wings,  he  would  fly  far,  far  away.  There 
are  rest  and  peace  to  be  found  in  God,  —  in  God  as 
we  see  him  in  the  merciful  face  of  Christ  ;  and  no 
other  where  ! 

Now,  brethren,  we  remember  that  it  was  a  king  who 
wrote  these  words  of  the  text.  It  was  one  who  had 
attained  to  the  highest  position  which  can  be  reached 
by  any  human  being.  It  was  one  who  had  experi 
enced  an  extraordinary  degree  of  what  men  esteem 
as  good  fortune.  He  was  at  first  nothing  more  than 
a  shepherd-lad;  but  he  came  out  from  that  lowly 
estate,  and  rose  to  fame  and  power  and  wealth.  He 
actually  reached  all  those  things  after  which  most 
human  beings  are  striving  in  vain  through  all  their 
lives.  You  know  how  men  labor  and  pinch  year  after 
year  to  gain  money,  and  possibly  after  all  can  do  no 
more  than  get  the  ends  to  meet,  of  what  they  get, 
and  what  they  must  give  away ;  here  was  a  man  who 
attained  wealth  without  limit.  You  know  the  silly 
way  in  which  people  scheme  and  plan,  to  gain  a  little 
advance  in  social  position ;  to  get  recognized  as  fairly 


230         THE  VAGUENESS  AND  ENDLESSNESS 

belonging  to  a  class  a  hair's-breadth  higher  than  that 
in  which  they  were  born  ;  to  get  admitted  to  good 
society  ;  well,  here  was  a  man  who  had  undeniably 
risen  from  a  humble  origin  to  the  very  top  of  the 
social  scale.  And  is  this  the  man,  we  are  all  ready  to 
think,  who  speaks  so  poorly  of  a  world  which  has 
used  him  so  handsomely  ?  Yes,  the  very  man.  All 
these  things  he  had  attained  failed  to  make  him 
happy ;  there  were  many  thorns  yet  in  the  pillow ;  his 
heaviest  sorrows  befell  him  after  he  was  an  anointed 
king.  You  remember,  too,  how  his  more  famous  son, 
Solomon,  the  wisest  and  greatest  man  of  his  time, 
summed  up  the  result  of  all  his  experience  of  life  in 
the  mournful  declaration,  "  Vanity  of  vanities,  saith 
the  Preacher ;  all  is  vanity  ! "  Now,  brethren,  it  is 
good  for  us  to  listen  to  such  words,  from  such  lips. 
You  cannot  say  that  Solomon  or  David  cried  down 
this  world  because  they  could  not  get  it ;  you  cannot 
think  that  they  said  the  grapes  were  sour  because  they 
could  not  reach  them ;  you  might  have  suspected 
something  like  that,  if  you  had  heard  a  man  who  had 
failed  in  life  declaring  that  "  all  is  vanity,"  or  wishing 
for  the  dove's  wings,  that  he  might  fly  to  the  wilder 
ness,  and  get  far  away  from  a  world  of  which  he  was 
sick  and  weary.  This  was  not  Timon,  giving  up  the 
world  because  the  world  had  given  up  him.  Here 
were  men  who  had  got  all  that  life  could  give  them ; 
and  who  yet  declared  that  all  would  not  suffice  to  give 
the  soul  rest.  And  not  merely  is  there  here  for  us  a 


OF  HUMAN  ASPIRATIONS.  231 

lesson  not  to  envy  the  rich  and  great ;  not  to  seek 
great  things  for  ourselves  ;  not  merely  is  there  some 
thing  here  to  remind  us,  that  we  may  be  as  happy 
in  a  lowly  station  as  anywhere  on  earth,  —  that  in  the 
Valley  of  Humiliation,  as  Bunyan  said,  we  may  have 
as  much  of  the  herb  called  heart's-ease  in  our  bosom, 
as  anywhere  ;  but  there  is  a  lesson  of  yet  deeper  spir 
itual  import  read  us  by  the  history  of  those  great 
men  who  stand  out  like  beacons  for  our  guidance  as 
we  steer  over  the  sea  of  life.  Very  few  men  indeed 
ever  reach  all  the  specific  objects  they  seek  ;  and  so 
come  to  such  vague  aspirations  as  those  of  the  psalm 
ist.  Very  few  men,  whatever  may  be  their  occasional 
feeling,  ever  reach  that  point,  that  the  serious  and 
constant  wish  of  their  heart  comes  to  be  after  the 
undefined  end,  the  vague  rest,  of  our  text.  For  it 
is  of  the  essential  nature  of  human  objects  of  pursuit, 
that  while  each  is  in  view,  it  shuts  out  the  view  of 
the  rest ;  it  concentrates  our  thoughts  and  wishes 
upon  itself;  it  creates  some  confused  impression  that 
we  should  be  happy,  that  we  should  be  right  at  last,  if 
we  could  only  reach  it.  We  fancy  that  something 
would  make  us  happy  if  we  could  get  it ;  and  if  we 
never  do  get  it,  we  go  on  under  that  fancy ;  we  keep 
thinking  that  it  would  make  us  happy ;  while  if  we 
had  got  it,  we  should  have  found  that  it  would  not. 
As  for  instance  :  a  man  wants  to  be  rich ;  he  sets  his 
heart  on  wealth.  Well,  year  after  year,  he  toils  for 
that.  He  never  reaches  it.  And  so  he  still  thinks 


232         THE  VAGUENESS  AND  ENDLESSNESS 

that  if  he  had  but  reached  it,  however  much  it  may 
have  failed  with  others,  it  would  have  succeeded  with 
him ;  and  he  goes  down  to  his  grave  still  fancying 
that  if  he  had  been  rich  he  would  have  been  happy,  — 
still  thinking  within  himself,  No  doubt  I  knew  So-and- 
so,  and  such  another  man,  who  were  very  rich,  and 
they  did  not  seem  to  be  very  happy ;  but  that  was 
their  own  fault ;  they  did  not  know  how  to  manage ; 
if  I  had  been  in  their  place,  I  should  have  been  per 
fectly  content !  Yes,  the  next  end  shuts  out  all  the 
rest ;  as  when  you  ask  a  drowning  man  what  he  wants, 
he  says,  Save  me  from  drowning,  —  that  is  all  he 
wants  in  the  mean  time  ;  he  never  thinks  of  anything 
more  till  he  has  got  that.  But  here  in  the  text  we 
find  a  man  who  had  actually  gained  all  the  ends  after 
which  men  seek  and  strive  ;  here  is  a  man  who  has 
actually  gained  wealth,  rank,  fame,  empire ;  and  now 
he  vaguely  wants  more.  He  has  got  past  the  stage  in 
which  we  fix  on  something  near,  —  on  some  specific 
end,  —  as  money,  or  position,  or  the  like  ;  he  has  got 
past  that,  and  reached  the  farther  stage  at  which  we 
look  up,  and  take  a  general  view,  and  ask  ourselves 
to  what  all  this  is  tending  ;  and  then  comes  the  vague, 
confused  wishing  and  reaching  on  for  something  which 
we  cannot  define  ;  then  comes  the  "  Oh  that  I  had 
wings  like  a  dove  !  Then  would  I  fly  away,  and  be 
at  rest." 

And  now,  my  friends,  let  me  remind  you,  that  it  is 
not  God's  word  alone  that  tells  us  how  this  world  is 


OF  HUMAN  ASPIRATIONS.  233 

not  OUT  rest.  Other  voices  chime  in,  and  tell  us  the 
same  sad  story.  "  Vanity  of  vanities  ; "  "  The  world 
passeth  away;"  "We  all  do  fade  as  a  leaf;"  O 
brethren,  is  not  that  the  strain  of  very  much  of  the 
best  part  of  the  literature  of  this  day,  and  of  all  days  ? 
Do  you  not  know  how  one  of  the  most  brilliant 
authors  of  the  age  has  devoted  all  his  writings  to  the 
illustration  and  enforcement  just  of  Solomon's  famous 
text  ?  But,  brethren,  what  a  wretched  blank  we  feel, 
when  genius  tells  us  the  story  of  this  world's  vanity, 
—  and  stops  short  there  !  Oh,  surely  those  who  have, 
with  an  eloquence  that  far  surpasses  the  theologian's, 
told  us  of  the  unsatisfying  nature  of  all  this  world  can 
yield  us,  were  especially  bound  to  point  us  to  him  in 
whom  alone  the  weary,  thirsting  soul  can  find  all  it 
needs  !  If  you  will  point  man's  poor  soul  away  from 
this  world,  oh,  point  it  to  Jesus ;  direct  its  faltering 
steps  to  him  who  has  promised  the  rest  to  which 
the  speediest  wings  would  not  bear  you,  and  which 
you  could  not  find  in  a  wilderness  far  more  remote 
than  that  remote  seclusion  to  which  the  wearied 
monarch  would  fain  have  fled  away !  Never  say 
that  "  this  is  not  our  rest,"  without  remembering  the 
blessed  "  I  will  give  you  rest,"  —  without  remembering 
thankfully  that  "  there  remaineth  a  rest  for  the  people 
of  God."  But  how  different  the  case  often  is  !  You 
find  it  set  out,  sometimes  with  all  the  bitterness  of  the 
cynic,  sometimes  with  matchless  pathos  and  tender 
ness,  that  "  here  we  have  no  continuing  city  ; "  well, 


234        THE  VAGUENESS  AND  ENDLESSNESS 

and  what  then  ?  You  wait  in  vain  for  that  which 
would  complete  that  half-sentence  and  half-truth  : 
"  but  we  seek  one  to  come."  No ;  in  many  cases 
you  will  hear  what  virtually  comes  to  this :  "  Here 
we  have  no  continuing  city;  and  it  does  not  much 
matter."  It  does  matter  !  If  this  world  be  so  blank, 
so  vain,  so  unsatisfying,  what  could  we  do,  but  for  the 
blessed  hope  of  a  better ;  what  could  we  do  but  for 
that  blessed  gospel  which  tells  us  of  a  Saviour  who 
will  guide  us  thither,  and  wash  away  our  sins  in  his 
blood,  and  send  us  a  Holy  Spirit  to  make  us  pure  as 
he  is  pure  !  This  is  far  too  serious  a  case  for  mere 
sentimentalism.  Nothing  will  stand  us  in  stead  but 
the  faith  of  Christ,  with  its  present  strong  consola 
tions,  with  its  substantial  hopes  for  days  to  come. 
There  is  nothing  real  upon  earth,  but  that  good  part, 
that  saving  interest  in  Christ,  which  never  can  decay. 
Everything  else,  even  if  it  could  satisfy  while  it  lasts, 
is  passing  away  so  fast,  and  will  be  passed  away  so 
soon !  We  feel  this  sometimes,  when  sudden  vivid 
glimpses  come  back  upon  us  of  tranquil  days,  gone 
forever ;  or  when  we  realize  it  plainly,  that  all  the 
blessings  which  now  surround  us,  —  home,  friends, 
children,  strength  and  life,  are  going  too,  —  chang 
ing,  decaying,  ebbing  away  from  us,  withering  in  our 
grasp.  Oh  !  dear  friends,  where  shall  your  portion 
be  ?  Here,  amid  the  cares  and  changes  of  time ;  or 
there,  amid  the  satisfying  and  enduring  joys  of  im 
mortality  !  Oh  that  we  might  each  choose,  for  our 


OF  HUMAN  ASPIRATIONS.  235 

soul's  portion,  him  in  whom  there  is  pardon  for  the 
guilty  soul,  holiness  for  the  sinful,  rest  for  the  weary, 
and  peace  for  the  disquieted !  He  made  us  for  him 
self  ;  he  redeemed  us  with  his  blood ;  his  blessed 
promise  is  of  rest ;  oh,  may  our  souls,  by  nature  rest 
less,  find  rest  in  him  ! 


XIV. 


COMFORT  TO   SODOM. 

"  When  I  shall  bring  again  their  captivity,  the  captivity  of  Sodom 
and  her  daughters,  and  the  captivity  of  Samaria  and  her 
daughters,  then  will  I  bring  again  the  captivitv  of  thy  cap 
tives  in  the  midst  of  them:  that  thou  mayest  bear  thine  own 
shame,  and  mayest  be  confounded  in  all  that  thou  hast  done, 
in  that  thou  art  a  comfort  unto  them."  —  EZEK.  xvi.  53,  54. 

|OW,  first,  what  is  the   meaning  of  this 

text? 

We  find  that  Jerusalem  is  said  to  have 

been  a  comfort  to  Sodom  and  Samaria ; 
and  this  is  mentioned  as  if  it  were  a  fault.  Jerusalem 
was  to  be  punished,  we  are  told ;  Jerusalem  was  to  be 
ashamed  and  confounded  ;  because  it  had  been  a  com 
fort  to  Sodom  and  Samaria.  Jerusalem  was  the  chosen 
city  of  God,  we  know  ;  and  Sodom  and  Samaria  were 
places  remarkable  for  their  wickedness.  But  still,  we 
are  a  little  surprised  at  the  first  glance  at  our  text. 
Is  it  not  a  Christian's  duty  to  do  good  to  all  as  he  has 
opportunity  ?  Are  we  not  bidden  to  love  even  our 
enemies,  and  to  do  good  even  to  them  that  hate  us ; 
and  can  it  then  be  wrong  to  be  a  comfort  even  to  the 
worst  of  mankind,  —  even  to  Samaria  and  Sodom  ? 


COMFORT  TO  SODOM.  237 

Yes,  in  such  a  case  as  this  it  is  wrong  to  be  a  comfort 
to  a  bad  man  or  a  bad  city  ;  because  in  such  a  case  it 
is  the  very  reverse  of  a  kind  turn  to  be  a  comfort  to 
them.  It  is  doing  harm  to  them,  and  not  doing  good 
to  them,  to  be  a  comfort  in  this  particular  way.  For 
Jerusalem  had  been  a  comfort  to  Sodom  and  Samaria, 
in  such  a  manner  as  had  encouraged  them  in  their 
sins.  When  the  wicked  men  of  these  cities  were  ready 
to  be  frightened  and  anxious  about  their  sins,  then 
the  men  of  Jerusalem  had  behaved  in  such  a  way  as 
tended  to  keep  their  minds  easy,  —  to  smooth  down 
their  anxieties  and  fears.  Jerusalem  had,  so  to  speak, 
kept  Sodom  and  Samaria  in  countenance.  When  the 
people  of  Sodom  and  Samaria  were  growing  ashamed 
and  alarmed,  and  were  likely  to  repent  of  their  sins, 
they  looked  across  to  Jerusalem ;  they  saw  it  was  just 
as  bad  as  they  were ;  and  so  they  said  to  themselves, 
If  Jerusalem,  God's  own  chosen  city,  goes  on  in  these 
evil  courses,  there  can  be  no  great  harm  in  our  doing 
so  too.  If  we  are  going  wrong,  we  are  going  wrong 
in  good  company.  We,  who  never  pretended  to  be 
better  than  our  neighbors,  need  not  mind  much  if 
we  are  no  worse  than  people  who  profess  to  be  the 
chosen  people  of  God.  And  so,  Jerusalem  encouraged 
Sodom  and  Samaria  to  go  on  in  sin  ;  and  so,  in  this 
blameworthy  sense,  Jerusalem  was  "  a  comfort  to 
them."  It  was  a  comfort,  even  as  the  flapping 
wings  of  the  vampire  bat  make  a  cool  current  of 
air  which  is  extremely  comfortable  to  the  sleeping 


238  COMFORT  TO  SODOM. 

man  whose  blood  it  is  drawing  fast  away.  It  was  a 
comfort,  as  it  is  comfortable  for  the  weary  man,  out  in 
the  snow-storm,  to  sink  gently  down  in  that  slumber 
from  which  he  will  never  wake  below.  Bnt  the  com 
fort  of  that  sleep  which  will  shortly  end  in  death  is 
far  from  a  desirable  thing.  The  true  friend  of  a  man 
in  such  a  case  would  be  he  who  should  rouse  him  up, 
however  rudely,  and  compel  him  to  push  on  his  way, 
however  unwillingly.  And  in  like  manner,  if  Jeru 
salem  had  wished  to  do  a  kind  turn  to  Sodom,  the 
course  to  follow  would  not  have  been  that  of  soothing 
its  fears  away,  and  encouraging  it  to  go  on  peacefully 
and  cheerfully  in  the  road  which  would  end  in  woe. 
The  best  and  kindest  turn  which  a  good  man  could 
render  to  a  bad  man,  would  be,  to  be  by  precept  and 
example  a  constant  gnawing  discomfort,  —  to  keep  his 
conscience  always  uneasy,  —  to  give  him  not  an  hour 
of  rest,  —  to  keep  him  ever  anxious,  unhappy,  fear 
ful,  —  till  he  had  turned  him  into  the  right  and  safe 
path.  It  was  sin  and  shame  for  God's  professed  peo 
ple  to  live  in  such  a  way  as  encouraged  those  who 
never  professed  to  be  God's  people  to  persevere  in 
their  sin  and  thoughtlessness  ;  and  very  fitly  might 
Jerusalem  be  threatened  with  shame  and  confusion, 
"  in  that  it  was  a  comfort "  to  Sodom. 

Now,  my  friends,  I  am  sure  you  will  all  readily  see, 
that  there  is  a  great  and  important  principle  sug 
gested  to  us  by  the  words  of  the  text.  The  text  sug 
gests  to  us,  that  it  is  very  blameworthy  in  those  who 


COMFORT  TO  SODOM.  239 

profess  to  be  Christians,  to  do  anything  which  may 
comfort  a  sinner  in  his  sinfulness,  and  encourage  him 
to  go  on  in  his  evil  ways.  You  know,  every  Chris 
tian  is  solemnly  bound  to  do  all  he  can  to  make 
other  men  Christians.  The  knowledge  of  the  gospel 
is  not  a  thing  which  a  man  may  have,  and  without 
blame  keep  to  himself.  No ;  all  Christians,  and  not 
the  ministers  of  the  cross  only,  are  under  a  bounden 
obligation  to  bring  all  within  the  sphere  of  their  in 
fluence  into  the  same  light  and  liberty  in  which  they 
themselves  rejoice.  And  we  know  that  a  special 
blessedness  is  promised  to  him  who  shall  turn  a  sin 
ner  from  the  error  of  his  ways.  "  He  which  con- 
verteth  a  sinner  from  the  error  of  his  way,  shall  save 
a  soul  from  death,  and  shall  hide  a  multitude  of  sins." 
And  just  as  blessed  and  happy  a  thing  as  it  is  to 
bring  another  soul  to  the  belief  of  the  gospel,  —  so 
wretched  and  wicked  and  fearful  a  thing  is  it  when  a 
man  who  bears  the  Christian  name  lives  in  such  a 
way  as  positively  encourages  those  around  him  to 
contemn  and  disbelieve  Christianity.  And  alas  !  how 
often  we  find  this  so !  How  many  a  seeming  be 
liever, —  yea,  how  many  an  inconsistent  and  injudi 
cious  real  believer,  —  is  "  a  comfort  to  Sodom  ; "  that 
is,  by  his  daily  life  does  what  he  can  to  bring  religion 
into  discredit,  —  to  make  worldly  men  think  it  a  hypo 
critical  pretence,  —  a  sham  and  a  delusion  !  Ah,  Chris 
tianity  has  received  its  sorest  wounds  in  the  houses  of 
its  seeming  friends.  The  infidel  cannot  damage  re- 


240  COMFORT  TO  SODOM. 

ligion  half  so  much  as  its  hypocritical  professor  can. 
The  consistent  believer,  by  his  entire  life,  should  be  a 
warning  to  the  unbelievers  around  him.  It  should  be 
a  daily  thorn  in  the  flesh  for  the  unconverted  man 
only  to  see  him  and  converse  with  him.  To  do  so 
should  make  the  unconverted  man  uneasy,  dissatisfied 
with  himself;  it  should  make  him  feel  that  he  lacks 
something  that  is  supremely  needful ;  it  should  stir  in 
him  a  sense  of  discomfort  which  nothing  can  allay, 
save  an  instant  hearty  acceptance  of  the  great  salva 
tion  which  is  in  Christ.  Now,  my  brethren,  is  this  so 
with  you  ?  There  are  many  of  you  here  who  profess 
that  you  are  Christians.  There  are  many  of  you  who 
come  season  by  season  to  the  communion  table,  and 
there  declare  that  you  are  the  disciples  of  Christ. 
Well,  and  what  does  your  life  say  ?  Does  that  recom 
mend  Christianity  to  all  around  you  ?  Does  your 
daily  life  enforce  the  sermons  which  the  unconverted 
hear  in  church ;  or  does  it  nullify  them  ?  Are  you 
people  whose  conversation  and  conduct,  —  whose  can 
dor  and  scrupulous  fairness  in  your  dealings,  and 
manifest  dread  of  committing  sin,  no  matter  what 
gain  may  be  got  by  it,  —  are  a  constant  witness  to  all 
who  see  you  that  your  religion  is  a  reality ;  or  are  you 
rather  a  "  comfort  to  Sodom,"  —  something  that  unbe 
lievers  may  point  to  as  a  proof  that  religion  is  all  a 
pretence,  —  something  to  encourage  them  in  their 
neglect  of  religion,  —  something  that  worldly  men  can 
point  at  and  say,  See,  that  man  is  a  communicant,  — 


COMFORT  TO   SODOM.  241 

he  is  never  out  of  church,  —  he  makes  a  great  profes 
sion  of  religion,  —  and  is  he  a  bit  better  than  we  are, 
who  make  no  profession  of  religion  at  all  ?  If  there 
is  any  difference,  is  it  not  that  he  is  worse  ?  Ah,  my 
brethren,  surely  we  have  all  got  sins  enough  of  our 
own  to  answer  for,  without  making  ourselves  thus 
partakers  of  other  men's  sins,  by  so  living  that  they 
may  find  in  our  example  an  apology  for  all  the  ill 
they  do.  But  let  us  look  more  particularly  into  this 
matter,  and  think  of  various  ways  in  which  professing 
Christians  may  lay  themselves  open  to  the  charge  of 
being  a  "  comfort  to  Sodom  and  Samaria." 

1.  There  is  one  obvious  way  in  which  professing 
Christians  may  do  this,  which  we  mention  only  to 
pass  it  by,  in  the  hope  that  none  of  us  who  bear 
even  the  Christian  name  are  so  sorely  and  shamefully 
guilty.  This  is  the  way  in  which  we  understand  from 
the  prophet  that  Jerusalem  was  a  comfort  to  Sodom  ; 
and  that  was,  by  being  actually  as  bad  as  Sodom  it 
self.  You  can  easily  imagine  how  wicked  men  would 
take  encouragement  to  go  on  in  wickedness,  when 
they  found  those  who  claimed  to  be  God's  peculiar 
people  as  wicked  as  themselves.  If  there  were  such 
a  fearful  and  wretched  sight  to  be  seen,  as  a  church- 
going  man  and  a  communicant,  who  was  a  swearer,  a 
drunkard,  a  liar,  a  slanderer,  and  a  cheat ;  if  there 
were  such  a  thing  to  be  found,  —  as  God  forbid  there 
should  ever  be,  —  would  not  every  swearer  and  drunk- 
11 


242  COMFORT  TO  SODOM. 

ard  and  liar  in  the  parish  quiet  his  conscience  with 
the  reflection  that  he  was  no  worse  than  that  wicked 
professor  of  religion  ?  Would  not  such  a  man  be  a 
comfort  to  all  the  Sodoms  and  Samarias  in  the  dis 
trict  ?  And  it  is  for  this  reason  that  it  is  impossible 
to  calculate  the  amount  of  mischief  that  may  be  done 
in  a  parish  by  an  unworthy  minister,  —  by  one  of 
those  degraded  men  whom  every  now  and  then  the 
Church  is  called  to  denude  of  the  office  which  he 
has  disgraced.  O  brethren,  it  is  easy  to  say,  and  it  is 
true  to  say,  that  religion  is  a  thing  that  must  be 
judged  of  on  the  ground  of  its  own  merits,  and  quite 
apart  from  the  conduct  of  those  who  profess  to  believe 
in  it ;  yet,  illogical  as  it  may  be,  foolish  and  wrong  as 
it  may  be,  the  mass  of  mankind  will  always  encour 
age  themselves  in  sinfulness  when  they  find  professing 
Christians  going  on  in  sin.  True  it  is,  that  the  right 
way  of  regarding  such  a  case  is  to  judge  that  these 
professing  Christians  are  no  Christians,  —  that  they 
are  only  men  who  are  adding  hypocrisy  to  their  other 
sins ;  and  that  it  would  be  as  fair  to  reckon  darkness 
as  a  part  of  light  as  to  reckon  them  as  men  for  whom 
religion  is  in  the  least  degree  responsible.  And  pass 
ing  by  such  a  case,  as  one  too  miserable  to  be 
thought  of,  and  in  any  case  quite  hopeless  to  mend, 
let  us  consider  whether  there  may  not  be  ways  in 
which  even  sincere  and  good  Christians  may,  with 
out  saying  or  doing  anything  that  is  expressly  sinful, 
yet  so  act  as  to  be  a  comfort  to  Sodom,  —  as  to 


COMFORT  TO  SODOM.  243 

encourage    wicked   and    worldly  men   in   worldliness 
and  sin. 

2.  And  as  one  of  these  we  mention,  allowing  sinful 
conduct  to  pass  without  notice  or  rebuke.  If  any 
sincere  Christian  is  present  in  a  company  where  what 
is  sinful  is  said  or  done  ;  and  if  he  permits  it  to  pass 
without  remark,  or  even  appears  tacitly  to  approve  it ; 
I  do  not  see  how  he  can  clear  himself  from  the  charge 
of  having  been  "  a  comfort  to  Sodom."  If  any  clergy 
man  is  present  in  a  company  of  persons  who  so  far 
forget,  I  do  not  say  what  is  in  accordance  with  God's 
law  or  with  morality,  but  even  what  is  due  to  common 
propriety,  as  to  indulge  in  profane  swearing  ;  and  if  the 
clergyman  allows  that  to  pass  without  the  least  indica 
tion  of  disapproval ;  I  do  not  see  how  he  can  clear 
himself  from  the  charge  of  having  been  "a  comfort 
to  Sodom."  If  any  sincere  Christian  is  present  when 
any  man  avows  his  intention  of  doing  what  is  wrong, 
or  mentions  with  satisfaction  that  he  has  already  done 
what  is  wrong ;  and  if  the  Christian  makes  no  sign  of 
what  his  feeling  is  or  ought  to  be,  then  that  Christian 
most  assuredly  is  "  a  comfort  to  Sodom."  If  any 
sincere  Christian  is  present,  when  a  man  relates  with 
something  like  pride  how  he  made  an  extremely  prof 
itable  bargain  by  means, which  he  probably  regarded 
as  being  decidedly  smart,  but  which  right-thinking 
people  would  call  lying  and  cheating ;  and  if  the 
Christian  expresses  nothing  of  the  disgust  which  such 
conduct  has  excited  in  his  breast ;  then  that  Christian 


244  COMFORT  TO  SODOM. 

is  proving  himself  "  a  comfort  to  Sodom."  For,  my 
friends,  the  very  worst  man  attaches,  and  cannot  help 
attaching,  great  importance  to  the  opinion  of  his  be 
havior  which  a  real  Christian  entertains.  His  own 
heart  condemns  him  when  he  does  what  is  wrong; 
and  he  has  an  uneasy  feeling  that  the  Christian  is  in 
his  heart  condemning  him  too.  Depend  upon  it,  all 
who  are  real  consistent  Christians  are  able  by  their 
disapproval,  —  even  by  their  silent  disapproval,  —  to 
check  a  man  most  materially  in  his  wrong-doing ;  and 
they  are  also  able  most  materially  to  encourage  him 
and  comfort  him  in  his  wrong-doing  by  appearing  to 
approve  it.  The  apparent  approval  of  one  true  and 
earnest  Christian,  —  even  the  very  humblest  in  worldly 
rank,  —  will  have  more  influence  to  comfort  the  wicked 
man,  —  to  keep  his  mind  easy,  and  his  conscience 
asleep,  —  than  the  loudest  declarations  of  his  own 
wicked  associates  that  he  is  a  fine  fellow  and  has 
done  nothing  wrong.  And  I  am  not  forgetting,  my 
brethren,  the  restraints  which  the  usages  of  civilized 
society  impose  upon  our  telling  a  man  to  his  face 
what  is  our  opinion  of  his  conduct.  The  Christian  is 
not  called  upon  to  go  up  to  a  man  and  tell  him  that 
he  is  a  bad  man,  merely  because  he  thinks  he  is  one. 
The  Christian  is  not  called  to  set  himself  up  as  a  sort 
of  daily  reviewer,  a  moral  critic,  of  the  character 
and  conduct  of  all  he  knows.  The.  Christian  is  not 
commanded  to  tell  every  bad  man  he  meets  exactly 
what  he  thinks  of  him  ;  nor  forbidden  to  be  civil  and 


COMFORT  TO  SODOM.  245 

even  respectful  in  answer,  to  those  of  whose  conduct 
he  disapproves  the  most.  It  is  not  demanded  of  the 
sincere  believer,  in  order  to  his  escaping  the  guilt  of 
being  "  a  comfort  to  Sodom,"  that  he  should  make 
an  enemy  of  almost  every  man  he  meets.  Nay,  my 
friends,  —  there  is  a  silent,  unobtrusive  disapproval,  by 
which  the  humblest  may  be  a  check  upon  the  highest ; 
there  is  a  silent,  unobtrusive  disapproval,  expressed 
Avithout  words  or  demonstration  of  manner,  one  can 
hardly  tell  how,  which  even  the  most  hardened  sinner 
will  find  it  very  hard,  very  uncomfortable,  to  bear.  If 
the  believer  in  his  very  heart  reprobates  and  condemns 
the  wicked  man's  wrong-doing,  that  condemnation  and 
reprobation  will  make  itself  keenly  felt,  —  felt  by  that 
electric  sympathy  which  makes  us  so  readily  know 
when  a  really  strong  and  decided  opinion  of  us  and 
feeling  toward  us  is  entertained  by  another  human 
being.  If  you  truly  hate  the  sin,  while  yet,  so  far  as 
that  may  be,  you  love  the  sinner ;  then,  my  friend, 
your  manner  toward  the  sinner  will  involuntarily  be 
such,  that  you  will  be  quite  clear  of  the  risk  of  being 
"  a  comfort  to  Sodom." 

3.  Another  way  in  which  a  Christian  may  so  act  as 
to  encourage  and  comfort  an  irreligious  man  in  his 
godless  ways,  is  by  seeking  his  society  and  acquaint 
ance  ;  —  showing  him  that  you  think  him  a  congenial 
spirit,  and  that  you  feel  it  pleasant  to  be  with  him. 
I  need  not  say  to  you,  my  brethren,  that  whatever  may 
be  a  man's  position  and  occupation,  it  is  almost  cer- 


246  COMFORT  TO   SODOM. 

tain  that  he  will  find  it  absolutely  necessary  to  be 
upon  terms  of  kindly  and  even  cordial  social  inter 
course  with  many  persons  who  he  knows  are  not 
Christians ;  and  perhaps  even  with  some  persons 
who  have  violated  and  are  violating  the  laws  of 
common  morality.  You  cannot  entirely  decide  for 
yourself  what  kind  of  persons  shall  be  your  acquaint 
ances,  in  the  way  of  business,  or  duty,  or  social  inter 
course  even  ;  you  cannot  entirely  decide  for  yourself 
who  shall  be  your  acquaintances,  —  but  most  assuredly 
you  can  decide  for  yourself  who  shall  be  your  friends. 
You  can  choose  for  yourself,  and  you  ought  to  choose 
for  yourself,  those  whose  companionship  you  shall 
seek,  whose  conversation  you  shall  delight  in,  to 
whom  you  will  tell  your  secrets  and  confide  your 
feelings,  —  those,  in  short,  for  words  can  make  the 
idea  no  plainer,  whom  you  will  make  your  chosen 
friends.  And  we  do  not  hesitate  to  lay  it  down  as  a 
certain  principle,  that  a  Christian  man  ought  never  to 
choose  for  his  special  friend  a  person  who  he  knows 
has  no  religion.  A  man,  they  say,  is  known  by  the 
company  he  keeps  ;  —  that  is,  if  he  keeps  it  by  his  own 
free  choice  and  will.  No  man  will  choose  for  his 
especial  friend  one  whose  hourly  conversation  revolts 
and  disgusts  him.  The  refined  taste,  to  say  nothing 
of  principle,  of  a  cultivated  man  shrinks  from  contact 
with  that  which  is  coarse  and  foul ;  and  if  we  find  a 
professed  Christian  whose  chosen  and  intimate  friends 
are  found  among  the  profane  and  godless,  I  believe 


COMFORT  TO  SODOM.  247 

the  common  sense  of  most  men  would  conclude  that 
such  a  one's  Christianity  did  not  reach  far  beyond 
profession.  But  what  we  now  maintain  is  this :  that 
if  any  believer  courts,  and  delights  in,  the  society  of 
those  who  are  not  Christians,  —  no  matter  how  pleas 
ant  and  elegant  and  intellectual  that  society  may  be, 
—  that  believer  is  incurring  the  guilt  which  Jerusalem 
incurred,  when  Jerusalem  made  itself  "  a  comfort  to 
Sodom."  That  believer  is  following  a  course  which 
directly  tends  to  encourage  the  unbeliever  to  go  on  in 
his  evil  ways.  For  what  is  the  natural  reasoning  of 
any  man  who  is  not  a  Christian,  when  he  finds  a  man 
who  is  a  Christian  ever  ready  to  make  him  a  com 
panion  and  a  friend  ?  "  How  can  he  think,"  the  un 
believer  will  judge,  —  "  How  can  he  think  that  I  am 
going  to  hell !  Is  it  possible  that  he  should  like  to 
be  the  companion  of  my  walks,  —  to  interchange 
thought  and  feeling  with  me,  —  to  discuss  great  ques 
tions  with  me,  —  perhaps  often  to  jest  and  laugh  with 
me  ;  —  and  all  the  while  believe  and  know,  that  as  sure 
as  there  is  a  God  above  us,  I  am  going  down  to  hell ! " 
Don't  you  see  now  what  eternal  damage  you  who  are 
Christians  may  do  an  unbelieving  neighbor?  Don't 
you  see  how  you  may  so  act  as  to  confirm  him  in  all 
his  unbelief?  Don't  you  see  how  you  may  so  act  as 
to  make  him  fancy  that  you  do  not  believe  the  great 
truths  of  Christianity  yourselves  ?  I  do  not  love,  and 
I  do  not  respect,  that  Christian  man,  and  still  more 
that  Christian  minister,  who  is  ready  to  be  as  familiar 


248  COMFORT  TO  SODOM. 

with  a  bad  man,  be  he  rich  or  poor,  as  the  bad  man 
himself  may  choose.  I  cannot  imagine  how  any  ear 
nest  believer  can  ever  find  it  otherwise  than  inexpres 
sibly  awful  and  tremendous  to  look  in  the  face  of  an 
unbeliever,  and  to  think  that  he  is  hasting  onward 
to  the  everlasting  flames  !  O  Christians,  "  make  a 
difference,"  as  St.  Paul  said.  O  Christians,  be  kind 

—  you   cannot  be  too  kind  —  to  the  sinful  and  the 
godless  ;  but  be  kind  with  a  sorrowful  kindness,  —  as 
a  parent  might  weep  over  a  son  running  fast  to  ruin ! 
O  Christians,  love  them,  —  pray  for  them,  —  do  all  the 
good  you  can  to  them ;  but  let  them  ever  see,  by  your 
whole  demeanor,  that  you  never  forget  that  they  are 
in  the  wrong  way.     Let  them  feel  that  you  dare  not 
make    those   too   dear,  from  whom  the    grave   must 
part  you  forever !     See  that  you  be  not  a  "  comfort " 
to  them  !     Rather  so  hold  off  from  them,  —  so  be  kind 
to  them,  but  so  shrinking  from  them,  as  that  you  may 
be  a  constant  check  on  them,  —  a  constant  discomfort 
to  them,  —  a  warning  voice  telling  them  always  that 
they  are  on  the  road  to  woe  !    So,  with  God's  blessing, 
you  may  save  them  ;  so,  at  the  least,  you  will  clear 
yourself,  —  clear  yourself   from  the  awful  charge  of 
having  "  been  a  comfort  to  Sodom  ! " 

4.  I  go  on  to  mention,  as  a  fourth  way  in  which 
Christians  may  encourage  and  countenance  ungodly 
men  in  their  doings,  —  the  cherishing  a  worldly  spirit, 

—  being  as  eager  for  worldly  advantage,  and  as  un 
scrupulous  as  to  the  means  by  which  it  may  be  at- 


COMFORT  TO  SODOM.  249 

tained,  as  men  who  make  no  Christian  profession. 
And,  alas  !  my  friends,  how  much  of  this  there  is 
among  professing  Christians  !  We  are  told  that  the 
true  believer  should  walk  by  faith,  not  by  sight ;  should 
set  his  affection  on  things  above ;  should  seek  first 
the  kingdom  of  God  and  his  righteousness ;  should 
never  forget  that  a  saving  interest  in  Christ  is  the  one 
thing  needful.  But  is  the  fact  as  it  ought  to  be  ?  Are 
not  many  professing  Christians  —  even  those  in  whom 
charity  would  hope  there  may  be  found  "  the  root  of 
the  matter  "  —  the  most  worldly  of  men  ?  Are  not 
many  who  bear  the  Christian  name  as  eager  to  get 
money  in  any  way,  as  if  it  were  the  "  one  thing  need 
ful  ? "  Do  not  many  who  bear  the  Christian  name 
show  that  they  are  far  more  eager  to  get  on  in  life, 
than  to  prepare  for  immortality?  Is  there  not  as 
much  vanity  and  pride  and  grasping  at  gain  and  self- 
seeking  and  contemptible  worshipping  of  rank  and 
wealth,  —  even  when  completely  dissociated  from 
worth  and  goodness,  —  among  many  professing  Chris 
tians  and  Christian  ministers,  as  in  any  class  of  men  ? 
True  it  is  that  religion  repudiates  and  flings  off  such 
unworthy  pretenders ;  and  if  the  only  result  of  their 
utter  worldliness  of  heart  and  life  were  to  make  them 
the  contempt  of  all  right-thinking  men,  we  should 
not  quarrel  with  it ;  but  far  worse  result  follows  from 
the  worldliness  of  Jerusalem  ;  it  is  "  a  comfort  to 
Sodom  "  to  see  it  and  hear  of  it  all !  The  sharp  bar 
gain  made  by  the  communicant  may  do  worse  than 


250  COMFORT  TO  SODOM. 

levy  an  unfair  tax  upon  his  neighbor's  pocket ;  it  may 
damage  his  neighbor's  soul !  It  may  set  him  up  to 
"  go  and  do  likewise  !  "  It  may  lead  him  to  think  that 
there  is  no  difference  between  the  Christian  and  the 
worldly  man  at  all !  Oh,  miserable,  miserable,  that 
it  should  ever,  even  once,  be  said,  as  I  read  in  a  re 
ligious  paper  not  long  ago,  that  "  give  many  a  loud 
professor  of  religion  the  chance,  and  he  will  take  you 
in  as  fast  as  another  ! "  Oh  !  what  wonder,  if  that 
can  be  said  with  even  a  distant  approximation  to  truth, 
—  what  wonder  if  the  Christian  Church  is  many  a 
time  little  better  than  "  a  comfort  to  Sodom !  " 

5.  I  shall  mention,  in  the  fifth  place,  just  one  way 
more,  in  which  a  Christian  may  incur  the  condemna 
tion  pronounced  in  the  text :  this  is,  by  never  in  any 
way  warning  his  neighbor  that  he  fears  or  knows  he 
is  not  a  Christian. 

My  Christian  friends,  I  dare  say  some  of  you  have 
some  idea  that  it  would  be  intruding  into  the  priestly 
office  were  you  to  set  yourselves  to  the  work  of  bring 
ing  souls  to  Christ.  You  think  that  is  not  your  voca 
tion.  That  is  the  work  of  the  Church ;  and  by  the 
Church  many  people  mean  the  clergy.  But  if  you 
saw  a  friend  manifestly  stricken  by  fever  or  consump 
tion,  would  it  not  be  your  duty  to  warn  him,  although 
you  are  not  a  physician  ?  If  you  saw  a  friend  drown 
ing,  would  it  not  be  your  duty  to  try  to  save  him,  al 
though  you  are  not  a  member  of  the  Humane  Society  ? 
Ah,  brethren,  if  a  man  be  really  in  earnest  about  re- 


COMFORT  TO  SODOM.  251 

ligion,  he  will  never  bear  the  sight  of  a  human  being 
whom  he  daily  sees  and  talks  with,  going  to  eternal 
ruin,  without  a  word  of  warning  or  advice  !  If  you 
are  a  Christian,  and  if  a  man  with  no  religion  is 
accustomed  frequently  to  see  you  and  converse  with 
you  ;  and  if  you  talk  of  many  things  which  interest 
you  both,  yet  never  of  the  most  important  thing  of 
all ;  if  you  talk  of  your  common  welfare,  your  hopes 
and  prospects  in  life,  yet  never  of  the  world  in  which 
you  are  to  live  forever ;  if  you  never,  in  any  way, 
say  that  word  which  shall  imply  that  your  friend  and 
you  are  resting  upon  different  foundations,  —  that  you 
believe  in  Jesus,  and  that  you  know  and  feel  that  he 
does  not ;  if  you  never  express  or  hint  the  wish,  that 
so  far  as  you  are  a  true  believer,  he  were  such  as 
you,  —  and  that  thus  only  can  he  be  happy  here  and 
hereafter  ;  what  are  you  but  "  a  comfort  to  Sodom ;  " 
—  what  are  you  but  something  to  soothe  down  your 
friend's  latent  fears  and  cares  about  his  soul,  and  to 
r speed  him  peacefully  along  the  way  to  woe?  It  is 
possible  enough  he  may  not  like  to  listen  to  your 
warning  words ;  it  is  possible  enough  you  may  make 
yourself  an  annoyance  and  a  discomfort  to  him ;  he 
may  think  you  are  his  "  enemy,  because  you  tell  him 
the  truth  ;  "  but  oh  !  better,  better  that  than  to  be  a 
comfort  to  one,  to  whom  comfort  is  the  anodyne  that 
will  drug  to  death,  to  whom  comfort  is  the  stream 
that  will  bear  on  to  perdition  !  Clear  yourself,  my 
Christian  friend !  let  not  your  friend's  blood  cry  out 


252  COMFORT  TO  SODOM. 

against  you  !  Oh  !  let  it  not  be,  that  on  the  day  of 
judgment,  a  spirit  condemned  shall  be  able  to  cry 
out,  that  if  you  had  done  your  duty  by  it,  —  if  you 
had  warned  it  as  you  ought,  —  it  never  would  have 
come  to  that  doom  of  woe  !  Never  tell  us,  that  really 
you  have  not  opportunity,  —  you  have  not  moral  cour 
age  ;  the  thing  can  be  done,  —  done  in  many  ways ; 
and  Christian  principle,  sincere  and  deep,  will  not 
be  easily  daunted.  Who  can  tell  how  God's  gracious 
Spirit  may  carry  home  to  the  conscience  and  the 
heart  the  words  even  of  youth  and  inexperience  ? 
I  have  heard  of  one  who  on  his  death-bed  said,  that 
if,  as  he  humbly  trusted,  he  had  been  led  to  yield 
himself  to  his  Saviour,  and  so  to  find  hope  in  death, 
it  was  by  the  simple  and  solemn  warning  of  one,  in 
whom  simple  earnestness  and  heartfelt  piety  gave 
force  to  the  words  of  early  youth,  unsophisticated  and 
sincere.  But  if  it  be  thus  true,  that  a  solemn  respon 
sibility  rests  upon  every  Christian,  what  shall  be  said 
of  that  which  rests  upon  the  ministers  of  the  cross  ?, 
How  shall  they  clear  their  own  souls,  in  the  great 
day  of  account,  if  they  fail,  as  each  Lord's-day  comes 
round,  as  dying  men  speaking  to  dying,  to  warn,  to 
rebuke,  to  exhort,  to  leave  no  means  untried  that 
shall  waken  up  the  thoughtless  and  regardless  from 
their  false  peace,  —  that  shall  carry  such  discomfort, 
such  disquiet,  such  restlessness,  such  a  keen  barb  to 
the  unbeliever's  heart,  that  he  shall  never  know  ease 
till  he  has  betaken  himself  to  that  atoning  blood  in 


COMFORT  TO  SODOM.  253 

which  alone  our  sinful  nature  can  be  washed  and 
made  pure  !  Can  there  be  a  more  bitterly  bad  ac 
count  of  the  preaching  of  any  minister,  than  that  an 
unconverted  man  should  like  to  hear  it  ?  Could 
worse  be  said  of  any  preaching,  than  that  an  uncon 
verted  man  finds  it  pleasing  and  soothing  ?  Is  it  not 
so,  if  it  be  so  at  all,  because  that  preaching  is  "  a  com 
fort  to  Sodom  !  "  No  sermon  is  good,  unless  it  makes 
a  godless  man  uncomfortable  and  ill  at  ease  ;  it  is  only 
thus  that  it  will  ever  stir  him  to  earnest  turning  to 
Christ,  O  brethren,  what  an  awful  thing  to  think  of, 
that  perhaps  in  the  place  of  woe,  there  may  a  soul  be 
found,  that  shall  be  able  to  say  :  I  went  every  Sun 
day  to  my  parish  church,  —  I  listened  to  the  preach 
ing  of  the  parish  minister ;  his  sermons  were  always 
pleasing  and  soothing  to  listen  to  ;  they  never  made 
me  uncomfortable  ;  they  never  sent  me  home  dis 
satisfied  with  myself,  and  anxious  to  get  peace  and 
pardon;  Sunday  by  Sunday  I  heard  them;  —  I  heard 
•them  and  I  am  here  !  Think  of  the  unfaithful  min 
ister,  —  think  of  the  cowardly  minister  that  durst  not 
preach  the  truth  for  fear  of  giving  offence,  —  think  of 
him  entering  the  other  world,  and  greeted  there  by 
such  a  cry  as  that!  Oh,  shall  the  preacher  of  the 
gospel  dare  to  preach  smooth  things,  with  such  a 
possibility  as  that  before  him  !  Shall  the  fear  of  man 
drive  him  to  dare  the  curse  of  God  !  Shall  he,  bid 
den  as  he  is  to  "  speak  comfortably  to  Jerusalem," 
speak  comfort  to  Sodom  too !  Or  shall  he  not  rather, 


254  COMFORT  TO  SODOM. 

as  one  bound  to  "  take  heed  unto  himself,"  as  well  as 
"  to  the  doctrine,"  cry  aloud  and  spare  not  in  the  un 
believer's  ear ;  pressing  and  crushing  it  home  upon 
him,  that  he  must  choose  between  blessing  and  curs 
ing,  between  life  and  death  ;  that  so,  when  his  minis 
try  is  ended,  when  his  voice  is  hushed,  when  he  lies 
down  in  his  winding-sheet,  —  it  never  may  be  said  of 
those  cold  dumb  lips,  which  shall  give  out  text  no 
more,  that  when,  Sunday  by  Sunday,  they  spoke  from 
the  pulpit  in  the  house  of  prayer,  they  spoke  words 
of  "  comfort  to  Sodom  !  " 


XV. 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  BODY. 

"  For  this  corruptible  must  put  on  incorruption,  and  this  mortal 
must  put  on  immortality."  —  1  COR.  xv.  53. 

T  is  a  remarkable  change,  when  we  come 
to  think  of  it,  which  at  death  passes  at 
once  on  the  material  and  the  immaterial 
part  of  the  nature  of  man.  The  soul  is 
separated  from  its  mortal  tenement;  and  that  spiritual 
existence,  whose  warm  affections  we  vainly  referred 
to  the  material  heart,  and  whose  thoughts  and  fancies 
we  vainly  referred  to  the  material  brain,  now  lives 
apart  from  both,  and  independent  of  either.  But  the 
soul  was  always  a  mystery  ;  it  was  invisible  before, 
and  it  is  no  more  now ;  we  cannot  tell  how  it  left  the 
body,  but  we  never  knew  how  it  lived  in  it,  or  where 
in  this  mortal  framework  was  its  home  ;  and  its  de 
parture  is  no  more  inexplicable  than  its  existence.  It 
is  on  the  more  familiar  body,  that  the  more  palpable 
and  the  more  affecting  change  is  wrought.  The  con 
trast  with  that  which  a  little  before  it  was,  strikes 
us  painfully  and  harshly ;  and  an  undefined  and 
mysterious  awe  comes  over  us,  as  we  stand  by 


256          THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  BODY. 

the  body  from  which  the  soul  has  gone.  The  heart  is 
there,  but  it  beats  no  longer ;  the  eye,  but  it  sees  no 
more  ;  and  the  kindliest  and  best-loved  voice  cannot 
arrest  the  attention  of  the  dull,  cold  ear.  The  color 
of  life  has  fled  from  the  cheek,  and  the  light  of  intel 
lect  from  the  brow ;  the  multitudinous  machinery  of 
animal  life  is  there,  but  the  vital  spark  to  set  it  in 
motion  is  wanting ;  and  when  weeping  friends  stand 
round  the  bed  of  death,  that,  which  once  could  never 
see  their  grief  without  seeking  to  soothe  and  lighten 
it,  remains  heedless  and  still. 

But  this  is  not  all.  The  great  law  of  decay,  power 
less  against  life,  now  asserts  its  authority  over  the  life 
less  frame.  To  that  place  where  the  rich  and  the  poor 
meet  together,  alike  in  the  helplessness  and  humili 
ation  of  mortality,  —  to  that  narrow  house,  appointed 
for  all  living,  —  the  living  bear  the  dead,  and  lay 
them  to  their  long  repose.  And  then,  decay  begins 
its  quiet  work ;  the  worm  feeds  sweetly  on  that,  round 
which  many  warm  affections  clung,  and  on  which 
many  fond  hopes  were  set ;  that  which  parents  had 
caressed  and  cared  for ;  that  by  which  we  knew  those 
we  loved  ;  that  which  was  so  often  the  eloquent  and 
loved  expositor  of  the  mind  within,  which  spoke  in 
the  eye,  and  flushed  the  cheek.  And  in  a  little,  the 
change  grows  more  complete  still ;  and  a  little  dust, 
not  distinguished  from  the  crumbling  mould  around, 
is  all  to  show  where  sleeps  what  was  once  a  human 
frame,  but  is  now  of  the  clods  of  the  valley.  The 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  BODY.         257 

trees  around  send  out  their  roots  and  pierce  it ;  the 
long  grass  waves  the  greener,  nourished  by  man's 
decay  ;  and  when  daisies  grow  over  the  grave,  and 
moss  has  covered  the  head-stone,  there  is  now  be 
neath  it  nothing;  —  save  earth  to  earth,  ashes  to  ashes, 
dust  to  dust. 

And  so,  —  all  sense  is  over.  The  old  churchyard, 
where  every  spadeful  of  earth  is  mingled  with  human 
mould,  is  as  lifeless  and  feelingless  as  any  common 
field  near  it.  The  heart  there  throbs  no  more  to  the 
call  of  passion,  nor  dances  to  the  song  of  hope.  Over 
that  quiet  place  there  floats  the  sound  of  the  Sabbath- 
bell  ;  but  many  who  heard  it  once,  hear  it  now  no 
more.  Lowly  grief,  and  lordly  pride,  rest  here  to 
gether.  The  ashes  of  friends  mingle  without  sym 
pathy  ;  and  those  of  enemies  without  recoil. 

My  brethren,  all  the  generations  of  mankind  have 
seen  as  much  as  this  ;  and  at  this  point  the  informa 
tions  of  sense  and  of  reason  cease.  That  is  the  very 
last  that  we  see  of  our  fellow-creatures.  But  we  can 
well  believe  that  through  the  long  ages  before  our 
Blessed  Saviour  "  abolished  death,"  and  "  brought 
life  and  immortality  to  light,"  declaring  that  he  was 
"  the  resurrection  and  the  life,"  —  many  a  bereaved 
heart  must  have  asked  in  anguish  if  this  was  the  end 
of  all  ?  Was  the  touch  of  the  vanished  hand  never 
again  to  be  felt ;  was  the  well-remembered  voice 
hushed  forever?  Was  this  the  sorry  ending,  in  the 
dust  of  death,  of  all  the  thoughts  and  purposes,  of  all 


258          THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  BODY. 

the  warm  feelings  and  affections,  which  even  in  the 
darkest  days  of  the  history  of  our  race,  spoke  man 
made  at  first  in  the  image  of  God !  And  have  we 
looked  our  last,  we  can  hear  the  mourners  asking, 
upon  the  features  and  the  forms  of  those  we  loved, 
whose  presence  once  warmed  our  hearts  and  bright 
ened  our  homes  ?  Must  it  be,  that  the  parting  look, 
when  we  lifted  the  winding-sheet  aside,  and  gazed 
silently  and  long  upon  the  sharp  face,  so  sadly 
changed,  was  indeed  the  very  last  ?  And  we  can 
trace,  even  among  those  who  enjoyed  no  gospel-light, 
what  look  like  indications  of  some  dim,  confused 
yearning  after  the  glorious  doctrine  of  a  Resurrection, 
which  forms  so  essential  a  part  of  our  Christian  faith. 
Perhaps  those  are  right  who  maintain  that  at  least 
some  vague  aspiration,  some  blind  reaching,  after  that 
wonderful  Christian  truth,  underlies  all  doings  and 
observances  implying  care  or  respect  for  man's  mortal 
part  after  the  soul  has  left  it.  Perhaps  they  are  right 
who  think  they  discern  in  all  these  some  undefined 
and  almost  unconscious  hope,  that  at  death  even  the 
poor  body  is  not  done  with  forever,  —  that  there  is 
something  coming  yet,  in  which  even  the  material 
part  of  man's  nature  is  concerned.  And  if  this  be  so, 
what  a  meaning  and  solemnity  are  breathed  through 
many  little  things  in  which  we  are  ready,  perhaps,  to 
see  nothing  more  than  human  weakness ;  such  things 
as  the  care  which  the  dying  have  expressed  that  they 
might  sleep  in  scenes,  and  near  friends,  they  loved  ; 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  BODY.          259 

and  that  their  ashes  might  remain  unmolested,  save 
by  the  gentle  hand  of  Nature  ;  such  things  as  the 
sweetness  and  seclusion  of  the  places  where  we  would 
wish  to  lay  the  dead  ;  such  things  as  the  awful  in 
scription  which  the  greatest  of  philosophers  and  poets 
caused  to  be  written  over  his  grave ;  such  things  as 
that  last  direction  of  the  patriarch  Joseph,  of  which 
the  apostle  Paul  speaks  with  such  solemn  approval ; 
—  telling  us  that  "  by  faith,  Joseph,  when  he  was  a- 
dying,  gave  commandment  concerning  his  bones !  " 

And  yet,  brethren,  we  can  well  understand  how, 
notwithstanding  whatever  natural  longings  may  be 
thus  indicated,  the  stupendous  nature  of  the  miracle 
implied  in  a  resurrection  of  the  body  baffled  the  belief 
of  such  as  walked  in  Nature's  light  alone.  That  pro 
pensity  to  live  in  the  future,  —  to  be  always  putting  off 
the  true  enjoyment  of  life  to  some  indefinite  season, 
somewhere  in  the  days  before  us,  —  conjoined  with  a 
horror  of  annihilation,  —  both  of  which  seem  natural 
to  man,  had  indeed  led  some  who  enjoyed  no  revela 
tion,  to  wish  and  to  hope  that  the  spiritual  part  of 
man  were  immortal ;  and  it  was  a  great  thing  to 
believe  that  what  in  us  now  acts  should  continue  its 
agency,  and  that  what  now  thinks  should  think  on  for 
ever.  Perhaps  it  filled  the  philosophic  mind  with 
lofty  thought ;  perhaps  it  yielded  some  comfort  to 
humbler  and  tenderer  spirits ;  when  the  dying  man 
raised  himself  upon  his  dying  pillow,  and  said,  with 
an  eye  that  brightened  at  the  belief,  and  a  voice  that 


260          THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  BODY. 

gained  strength  from  the  hope  that  prompted  that  last 
exertion,  that  what  in  him  truly  lived  was  strong  now 
as  in  his  days  of  youthful  strength  ;  —  that  his  interest 
in  the  welfare  of  those  he  loved  was  only  growing 
deeper;  —  that  it  would  be  deeper  on  the  morrow, 
though  he  might  never  see  it  in  this  world;  —  and  that 
his  better  life  only  began  when  men  said  he  died. 
Perhaps  there  may  have  been  men  whom  nature 
alone  guided  to  such  a  belief  as  that ;  let  me  say  for 
myself  that  I  do  not  believe  there  ever  were,  —  that  I 
hold  the  proofs  of  our  immortality  derived  from  nature 
alone  as  worth  absolutely  nothing,  —  that  I  believe 
that  only  through  relics  of  God's  own  teaching  had 
men  even  the  faint  inkling  of  a  future  life,  which  some 
who  never  heard  of  Jesus  have  possessed,  —  and  that 
only  our  blessed  Lord  "  brought  life  and  immortality 
to  light."  But  granting  that  the  man  was  ever  found, 
who,  untaught  from  above,  was  able,  in  the  act  of 
death,  to  declare  confidently  that  he  knew  he  should 
never  die  ;  —  surely,  even  then,  the  white  sharp  fea 
tures  ;  and  the  tongue  that  grew  palsied  with  the 
words  of  hope  on  it ;  and  the  drops  on  the  rigid 
brow  ;  and  soon  the  cold  senselessness ;  and  then  the 
thought  of  what  was  coming  in  a  little  longer ;  would 
tell  friends  around  that  that  life,  so  confidently  held 
by,  was  the  immortality  of  the  soul  alone.  All  merely 
rational  belief  was  staggered  by  the  first  thought  of 
what  was  meant  by  raising  and  reconstructing  the 
mortal  part  of  man.  It  is  so  yet.  The  resurrection 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  BODY.          2G1 

of  the  body  is  an  essentially  Christian  doctrine. 
"Wherever  the  apostles  went  and  preached,  you  re 
member  the  two  distinctive  words  which  they  always 
named  together:  "Jesus  and  the  Resurrection."  I 
believe  we  often  fail  to  remember  both  how  essentially 
Christian  this  doctrine  is,  and  also  how  essential  a  part 
it  is  of  Christianity.  How  forcibly,  how  constantly, 
the  apostles  pressed  it  on  all  who  heard  them  ;  and 
with  what  wonder,  what  incredulity,  even  with  what 
contemptuous  derision,  their  hearers  listened! 

And  it  need  not  surprise  us.  The  doctrine  implies 
a  miracle  the  most  stupendous.  We  know  how  the 
poet,  looking  upon  a  skull  cast  out  from  the  heaps  of 
a  ruined  city,  moralized  upon  the  mighty  power  which 
would  be  needful  to  refit  that  dismantled  palace  of 
the  soul,  and  quicken  it  to  life  again.  We  think  of 
the  multitudes  who  have  given  back  their  mortal  part 
to  the  elements  ;  how  every  period  of  thirty  years  sees 
the  grave  close  over  a  thousand  millions  of  human 
beings.  We  think  in  how  short  a  time  the  mortal 
remains  of  man  cease  to  bear  a  trace  of  what  they 
were  in  life.  "  Dust  we  are,  and  to  dust  we  return." 
It  was  a  quaint  but  solemn  fancy  of  the  poet,  to  apos 
trophize  a  molehill  in  a  churchyard,  as  containing 
part,  perhaps,  of  a  great  company  of  human  beings. 
It  is  strange,  indeed,  to  think  how  many  mortals  may 
meet  in  that  small  hillock ;  how  winds  and  rains  may 
there  have  brought  together  in  death  those  who  never 
met  in  life ;  how  the  warm  blood  once  ran  through 


262          THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  BODY. 

that  crumbling  mould  ;  how  every  atom  of  it  claims 
closest  kindred  with  ourselves  !  And  we  remember, 
too,  how  science  tells  us,  not  as  a  striking  fancy,  but 
as  a  certain  fact,  that  the  whole  material  world  is  per 
vaded  by  the  atoms  which  entered  into  the  material 
frames  of  generations  that  are  gone.  There  is  some 
thing  of  them  in  the  yellow  autumn  harvests,  and  in 
the  leafy  summer  trees ;  something  in  the  dust  which 
our  footsteps  stir,  and  which  the  breeze  wafts  in  play. 
There  is  but  one  generation  of  humankind  alive  at 
once  ;  but  there  are  a  hundred  slumbering  in  the  dust 
together.  "  All  that  tread  the  globe,  are  but  a  handful 
to  the  tribes  that  slumber  in  its  bosom." 

No  wonder  that  men,  upon  any  authority  less  cer 
tain  than  that  of  the  Almighty  God  himself,  should 
have  failed  to  believe  that  what  was  so  widely  dis 
persed  and  so  completely  assimilated,  should  ever  be 
separated,  assembled,  quickened  again.  And  there 
was  a  difficulty  hardly  less  formidable  in  the  very 
nature  of  the  thing.  Human  reason  has  seen,  and  it 
can  imagine,  that  gradual  series  of  decay  which  turns 
fresh  and  vigorous  youth  to  weak  and  faded  age,  and 
which  then  brings  the  wasted  frame  to  dust  and  ashes ; 
but  how  strange  to  conceive  this  process  reversed,  — 
the  steps  of  this  series  retraced  ?  To  think  of  dry 
bones  arranging  themselves  in  human  form,  and  knit 
ting  themselves  together  by  nerves  and  sinews ;  to 
think  of  the  multitudinous  apparatus  of  animal  and 
intellectual  life  again  appearing  about  them  and 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  BODY.          263 

within  them  ;  and,  more  wonderful  than  all,  to  think 
of  the  vital  spark  returning,  to  set  the  whole  machin 
ery  again  in  action,  —  warming  the  heart,  and  circling 
in  the  blood,  and  beaming  in  the  eye,  —  was  what  the 
human  mind,  of  itself,  could  not  do.  "  Can  these 
bones  live  ? "  said  the  Almighty  to  Ezekiel,  in  the 
valley  of  vision  ;  and  the  prophet  answered,  "  God, 
thou  knowest !  "  And  till  God  himself  answered  the 
question,  that  was  the  sum  of  what  man  could  say. 

But  the  question  is  answered  now.  Prophets  de 
sired  to  see  the  things  that  we  see,  and  did  not  see 
them.  Ezekiel,  with  all  his  inspiration,  durst  not  say 
that  dry  bones  could  live  again  ;  but  there  is  not  a 
child  among  us  but  has  been  taught  to  say  confidently, 
in  that  Creed  which  we  have  repeated  from  infancy, 
"  I  believe  in  the  resurrection  of  the  body  !  "  There 
is  not  a  doctrine  of  the  gospel  that  is  more  clearly, 
strongly,  and  fully  declared.  You  remember  how  St. 
Paul,  in  the  chapter  in  which  our  text  stands,  argues 
the  question  at  length  ;  and  anticipates  and  puts  down 
all  objections.  "  This  corruptible  shall  put  on  incor- 
ruption,  and  this  mortal  shall  put  on  immortality." 
"The  dead  shall  be  raised  incorruptible."  "That 
which  was  sown  in  corruption  shall  be  raised  in  in- 
corruption  ;  that  sown  in  dishonor  shall  be  raised  in 
glory  ;  that  sown  in  weakness  shall  be  raised  in 
power ;  that  sown  a  natural  body  shall  be  raised  a 
spiritual  body."  And  remembering  that  the  soul  is 
not  all  the  man  ;  remembering  that  it  needs  body  and 


264          THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  BODY. 

soul  in  union  to  constitute  the  perfect  human  being ; 
remembering  that  the  body  is  redeemed  with  Christ's 
blood  as  well  as  the  soul ;  —  the  great  apostle  hesitates 
not  to  say,  that  not  even  the  perfect  holiness  and  hap 
piness  of  the  soul  would  content  him  ;  that  not  till  the 
body,  wrested  from  land  and  sea,  and  glorified  into 
beauty  and  perfection,  is  united  to  the  soul  again, 
would  he  be  willing  to  confess  that  Christ's  great 
atonement  had  proved  fully  successful  in  all  it  aimed 
at  for  God's  glory  and  man's  salvation ;  and  that  only 
"  when  this  corruptible  shall  have  put  on  incorruption, 
and  this  mortal  shall  have  put  on  immortality,  then 
shall  be  brought  to  pass  the  saying  that  is  written, 
Death  is  swallowed  up  in  victory ! " 

I  know,  my  friends,  that  a  hundred  objections  may 
be  started  to  the  doctrine  of  the  Resurrection ;  and  a 
hundred  questions  may  be  put  as  to  the  rationale  of  it. 
We  are  not  careful  to  answer  such  questions.  It  is 
not  wise  to  go  into  details  as  to  a  truth  whose  details 
are  not  revealed  to  us,  and  as  to  which  we  might 
speculate  endlessly  without  reaching  certainty  or  clear 
understanding.  St.  Paul  looked  forward  to  the  ques 
tion,  "  How  are  the  dead  raised  up,  and  with  what 
body  do  they  come?"  and  doubtless  such  questions 
would  be  in  the  mind  of  the  men  of  Athens  when 
they  mocked  at  the  mention  of  a  resurrection ;  but  it 
is  more  reverent  and  more  wise,  not  to  try  to  explain 
what  is  manifestly  miraculous,  and  manifestly  beyond 
our  comprehension.  Some  of  you  may  remember  how 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  BODY.    2C5 

the  great  Emperor  Napoleon,  in  his  exile  at  St.  Helena, 
was  wont  to  speculate  upon  this  great  Christian  doc 
trine  ;  and  while  expressing  his  wish  to  be  burnt 
rather  than  buried  after  his  death,  he  said,  truly 
enough,  that  as  for  the  resurrection,  that  was  miracu 
lous  at  all  events ;  and  it  would  be  as  easy  for  the 
Almighty  to  accomplish  it  in  the  case  of  burning  as 
in  that  of  burial.  It  is  best  to  hold,  with  simple  faith, 
by  the  great  truth,  that  "  this  corruptible  must  put  on 
incorruption,  and  this  mortal  must  put  on  immortal 
ity."  We  hold  by  that  truth  ;  and  we  do  not  pretend 
to  explain  how  it  is  to  come  true.  And  we  all  know 
that  we  see  daily  things  we  can  explain  as  little.  Who 
can  tell  us  how  the  oak  grows  from  the  acorn  ;  how 
the  golden  harvests  of  autumn  grow  from  the  seed 
which  decays  in  the  ground  ?  Let  us  not  perplex 
ourselves  in  endless  speculations  as  to  the  manner  in 
which  the  dead  shall  rise  ;  but  let  us  rather  repose  in 
the  certainty  that  they  surely  will.  That  almighty 
One,  whose  voice  speaks  to  us  in  this  text,  we  may  be 
sure,  knows  how  he  is  to  fulfil  it. 

The  body,  then,  shall  awake  ;  though  it  be  not  till 
"  the  heavens  are  no  more."  The  grave  is  but  a  place 
of  temporary  rest,  not  of  eternal  forgetfulness.  Great 
truths  are  sometimes  embodied  in  single  words ;  and 
this  is  so  with  the  word  cemetery.  That  word  means 
sleeping -place  ;  it  is  a  truly  Christian  name  to  give  a 
burying-place  ;  it  implies  that  such  as  slumber  there, 
sleep  for  a  gfeat  awaking.  The  grave  of  the  right- 
12 


266          THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  BODY. 

ecus  is  the  treasury  of  the  skies ;  it  will  hear  the  voice, 
"  Restore  the  dead,"  and  every  atom  of  its  trust  shall 
be  rendered  back.  From  places  which  we  pass  with 
little  thought  of  those  who  are  resting  there,  human 
forms  will  come  forth  to  judgment.  From  some  .un 
known  spot,  over  which  the  L>eluge  rolled  its  effacing 
waters,  the  first  of  men  will  rise.  Ruth  will  rise  from 
that  place  where  she  was  buried  by  Naomi's  side  ;  and 
Moses  from  the  sepulchre  which  no  man  knew.  The 
cave  of  Machpelah  will  give  up  its  charge;  and  David 
and  his  fathers  will  rise  from  the  place  where  they 
slept  together.  Martyrs  and  patriots  will  come  out 
from  the  dungeon  where  they  died,  and  be  brought 
back  by  the  winds  to  which  men  scattered  their  ashes. 
The  material  frame  will  as  certainly  be  there,  which 
was  burnt  to  ashes,  ground  to  powder,  cast  into  a 
rapid  stream,  —  as  that  which  lay,  in  careful  seclusion, 
from  the  hour  of  death  to  the  day  of  judgment. 
Massive  stones  and  cathedral  arches  do  not  keep 
the  remains  of  royalty  more  securely  than  the  wide 
elements  of  nature  are  preserving  the  vestiges  of 
every  man  that  ever  breathed.  From  ocean  depths, 
from  mountain-side ;  from  the  forest  and  from  the 
desert ;  they  shall  come  again  ! 

And  thus,  the  earth  is  more  valuable  than  you 
would  think  it.  God  has  far  more  to  watch  over  in 
it  than  its  living  population.  It  rolls  on  its  way,  bear 
ing  in  its  bosom  a  vast  freight  of  that  which  is  yet 
to  people  heaven.  Let  us  remember,  that  the  quiet 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  BODY.          267 

bury  ing-place  which  we  pass  with  scarce  a  glance, 
contains  mines  which  in  God's  sight  are  richer  by  far 
than  ever  enriched  Peru.  Not  merely  the  mouldering 
remains  of  organized  matter;  not  something  which  has 
seen  its  day  and  done  its  work ;  but  something  whose 
day  is  only  coming,  and  whose  work  is  not  yet  well 
begun  ;  something  which  rests  less  in  memory  than  in 
hope  ;  the  "  body  still  united  to  Christ !  "  The  field 
of  the  world  is  a  harvest-field.  Not  vainly  did  our 
fathers  call  the  burying-place  God's  Acre.  It  is  sown 
with  the  seeds  of  God's  harvest ;  and  the  day  of  resur 
rection  is  God's  reaping-day. 

The  places  on  earth  that  are  quietest  now  will  be 
most  bustling  on  that  day  of  resurrection !  When  the 
hum  has  ceased  in  the  great  city's  streets,  the  seques 
tered  walks  of  its  burying-place  will  be  trodden  by- 
many  generations  together.  It  is  a  strange  thing  to 
stand  in  the  breathless  stillness  of  some  populous 
cemetery,  and  to  think  what  a  stirring  amid  its  dust 
the  voice  of  the  last  trump  will  make ! 

And  thus,  the  human  body  is  as  imperishable  as 
the  human  soul.  These  frames  of  ours,  which  seem 
among  the  most  fragile  things  on  earth,  are  the  only 
immortal  things  about  it.  That  delicate  organization, 
which  any  slight  accident  may  destroy,  and  which  a 
century  brings  to  dust,  will  outlive  far,  far  more  than 
states  and  empires.  It  will  see  the  world  out  !  It 
will  last  infinitely  longer  than  the  everlasting  hills. 
It  will  be  young  and  fresh  after  the  material  universe 


268          THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  BODY. 

shall  have  fulfilled  God's  purposes,  waxed  old,  and 
passed  away ! 

What  shall  we  say,  then,  to  this  destiny  which 
awaits  such  as  fall  asleep  in  Jesus  ?  We  are  ready 
to  think  that  it  would  now  confer  on  us  a  happiness 
beyond  expression,  if  the  Saviour  were  once  more  to 
appear  among  men,  working  the  same  miracles  as  in 
ancient  days.  How  it  would  delight  many,  if  he 
would  now  accompany  them,  as  he  did  the  sisters  of 
Lazarus,  to  the  place  where  lie  those  so  dear,  and  so 
missed  day  by  day;  and  give  them  back  to  their 
homes  and  hearts  !  It  would  delight  us,  though 
they  were  only  given  back  to  a  world  of  sin  and 
sorrow,  and  a  life  which  a  few  years  would  close 
again.  How  much  more,  if  they  were  raised  to  a 
being  in  which  sin  and  sorrow  were  alike  impossible, 
and  endued  with  a  life  which  could  never  end  ! 
How  much  more,  if  they  came  forth  from  the  tomb, 
not  in  the  pale  body  worn  down  by  long  disease, 
but  in  frames  which,  though  yet  material,  had  caught 
something  of  the  pure  immortality  of  the  happy  spirit 
within  !  How  much  more,  if  they  and  you  were  no 
longer  to  pass  your  days  in  the  company  of  sinful  men  ; 
but  in  the  society  of  beings  all  as  pure  as  they  are 
happy,  and  in  the  immediate  presence  of  the  Blessed 
Saviour  himself ! 

It  is  to  this  latter  kind  of  resurrection  that  our 
Redeemer  lifts  our  hopes.  It  is  to  a  sinless  and 
perfect  life  that  the  dead  in  Christ  shall  rise.  The 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  BODY.          2  GO 

corruptible  is  to  put  on  incorruption  ;  the  mortal,  im 
mortality.  The  body  raised  is  to  be  indeed  the  same  ; 
and  yet,  how  different !  The  eye  that  will  open  on 
the  better  world  will  be  brighter  by  far  than  ever 
brightened  at  the  view  of  native  scenes,  or  long-parted 
friends.  The  voices  that  shall  swell  the  hymns  above 
will  be  sweeter  by  far  than  ever  sang  God's  praises 
here.  These  poor  frail  bodies  are,  to  sum  up  all,  to 
be  made  into  conformity  with  the  glorified  body  of 
Christ.  And  if  we  should  ever  feel  disposed  to  envy 
those  to  whom  the  Saviour  when  on  earth  gave  back 
their  beloved  dead,  we  may  comfort  ourselves  with 
the  hope,  that  though  ours  will  never  be  recalled  to 
tread  by  our  side  the  thorny  paths  of  this  world, — 
though  we  have  parted,  till  advancing  seasons  lay  us 
low,  —  though  "our  path"  meanwhile  may  be  "in 
these  ways  we  know,  and  theirs "  through  scenes 
strange  and  far  away,  —  they  may  yet  —  and  if 
God's  grace  fail  us  not,  they  will  yet  —  be  our 
companions  in  that  better  land,  where  tears  are 
never  shed,  and  friends  are  never  parted ! 

The  wisest  people  of  antiquity  exerted  all  their 
ingenuity  to  arrest  the  progress  of  decay  in  their 
beloved  dead ;  and  so  successful  was  their  skill,  that 
we  can  even  yet  draw  forth  from  the  sepulchral  pyra 
mids  of  Egypt,  forms  that  two  thousand  years  since 
walked  the  streets  of  cities  whose  very  ruins  have 
disappeared  before  the  touch  of  time.  It  was  but  the 


270          THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  BODY. 

other  day  that  I  held  in  my  hand  the  hand  of  a  little 
Egyptian  boy  who  died  two  thousand  years  since  ; 
and  it  was  a  strange  thing  as  it  were  to  touch  that 
hand  across  that  long  waste  of  years.  And  though, 
when  we  look  on  the  decaying  features,  which  in  all 
their  fragility  have  outlived  rocks  and  empires,  we 
may  smile  at  this  earnest  anxiety  to  preserve  the  least 
important  part  of  man,  we  cannot  but  feel  a  thought 
ful  interest  in  the  contemplation  of  that  pious  care 
which  made  men  so  anxiously  seek  to  preserve  the 
lips  they  had  in  childhood  kissed,  and  the  knees  they 
had  climbed.  It  was  a  praiseworthy,  even  though  a 
futile  task,  for  such  as  knew  of  no  resurrection,  to 
care  for  even  the  material  part  of  man ;  and  though 
we,  in  these  modern  days,  may  bury  our  dead  from 
our  sight,  and  yield  the  battle  with  decay,  it  is  not  be 
cause  we  feel  no  concern  in  even  the  decaying  relics 
of  a  parent  or  a  friend  ;  it  is  because  we  know  assur 
edly  that  this  mortal  shall  put  on  immortality,  and  that 
God  himself  will  watch  over  it  in  the  space  which 
must  elapse  before  it  does  so.  Give,  then,  Christians, 
the  body  to  the  grave ;  and  never  seek  to  arrest  its 
quiet  progress  to  rejoin  the  elements.  Let  it  decay 
like  all  things  here,  returning  peacefully  to  the  dust 
from  whence  it  was  taken ;  and  rather  cherish  in  your 
memory  the  pleasant  recollection  of  its  health  and 
strength,  than  preserve  in  your  dwelling  the  wasted 
image  of  its  weakness  and  ruin.  Lay  it  in  the  grave, 
in  the  certain  hope  of  a  joyful  resurrection ;  and  when 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  BODY.          271 

you  come  to  die,  cling  to  the  same  blessed  hope. 
Know  that  never  pyramid  kept  ancient  king  so  care 
fully  and  well  as  earth  and  air  and  sea  will  keep  the 
mortal  part  of  your  friend  and  of  yourself.  And  an 
ticipate,  through  Jesus,  that  coming  day,  when  the 
blessed  soul  shall  tenant  its  glorified  body,  and  the 
glorified  body  shall  be  rendered  meet  for  the  dwell 
ing  of  the  blessed  soul. 

It  is  sad  to  have  to  suggest  any  thought  so  fearful, 
in  the  presence  of  hopes  so  bright.  Yet,  while  we 
contemplate  the  resurrection  of  Christ's  people,  we 
must  not  forget  that  there  is  a  resurrection  of  those 
who  are  not  his  people,  too.  "  The  dead  in  Christ 
shall  rise  first ; "  but  the  dead  without  Christ  shall 
find  no  hiding-place  in  the  grave.  They  shall  rise 
too,  invested  with  a  woful  immortality.  And  how 
ever,  in  the  prospect  of  the  dismal  eternity  before 
them,  they  may  long  for  the  peace  of  annihilation, 
that  peace  they  can  never  know.  There  will  be  no 
escaping  from  life  and  consciousness  and  perdition. 
We  dare  not  amplify  such  a  thought.  Is  there  one 
who  will  reject  God's  offered  mercy  in  Jesus,  and 
brave  that  awful  doom  ? 

I  am  sure,  my  friends,  that  we  have  all  felt,  in  our 
own  experience,  what  a  curious  power  there  is  in  the 
human  mind,  to  cast  off  the  thoughts  of  these  solemn 
realities  of  death  and  resurrection  which  await  us 
all,  almost  as  rain-drops  fall  from  the  wings  of  the 


272          THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  BODY. 

water-fowl.  We  have  all  an  extraordinary  power  of 
living  in  the  forgetfulness  of  our  latter  end.  And  it 
seems  not  to  be  God's  purpose  that  it  should  always 
be  present  with  us.  Even  those  who  have  sought  to 
bring  these  remembrances  home  to  them  by  means 
to  which  we  are  not  likely  to  resort,  have  told  us 
that  they  strove  in  vain.  Some  of  you  may  think 
of  that  good  priest,  three  centuries  since,  who  tells  us 
that  not  even  the  mouldering  bones  which  he  kept 
in  his  chamber,  not  even  the  coffin  standing  contin 
ually  by  his  bed,  could  make  him  think,  indeed,  that 
he  must  die.  You  may  know,  too,  how  a  certain  great 
poet  and  humorist,  who  passed  away  but  a  few  years 
since,  seeking,  as  it  seemed,  to  bring  the  fact  of  death 
home  to  his  feeling,  spent  some  time  during  his  last 
illness  in  drawing  a  picture  of  himself  dead  in  his 
shroud.  In  his  biography,  published  by  his  children, 
you  may  see  the  picture,  grimly  truthful  ;  but  I  think 
you  may  see  there  something  of  a  morbid  taste  for 
the  ghastly  and  the  physically  repulsive  ;  and  it  is 
with  far  more  pleasing  imagery  that  the  Christian 
should  seek  to  invest  his  passage  from  this  life. 
Surely  in  perfect  cheerfulness  and  healthfulness  of 
spirit,  the  human  being  who  knows  (as  far  as  man  can 
know)  where  he  is  to  rest  at  last,  may  oftentimes  visit 
that  peaceful  spot.  The  hard-wrought  man  may  fitly 
look  upon  that  soft  green  turf,  some  day  to  be  opened 
for  him  ;  and  think  to  himself,  Not  yet,  I  have  more 
to  do  yet;  but  in  a  little  while.  Somewhere,  doubt- 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  BODY.         273 

less,  there  is  a  place  appointed  for  each  of  us;  a 
place  that  is  waiting  for  each  of  us,  and  that  will  not 
be  complete  till  we  are  there.  But  our  Saviour  is 
"  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life ; "  and  "  this  mortal 
must  put  on  immortality."  And  we  rest  in  the  hum 
ble  trust,  set  out  in  words  which  have  been  used  in 
Christian  prayer  for  ages,  that  "  through  the  grave, 
and  gate  of  death,  we  shall  pass  to  our  joyful  resur 
rection."  It  will  be  a  lowly  thing  to  lie  down  there, 
in  the  humble  repose  of  mortal  dissolution  ;  but  oh  ! 
never  forget,  that  to  the  true  believer,  lowly  as  that 
sleep  may  seem,  it  is  a  sleep,  sent  by  God,  and  to  be 
broken  by  a  joyful  waking  ! 


12* 


XVI. 

CHRISTIAN  SELF-DENIAL. 

"  And  he  said  to  them  all,  If  any  man  will  come  after  me,  let  him 
deny  himself,  and  take  up  his  cross  daily,  and  follow  me."  — 
ST.  LUKE  ix.  23. 

U|  0  deep  an  impression  did  these  words  of 
our  Saviour  make  upon  the  minds  of  his 
followers  ;  so  great  and  far-reaching  a 
truth  did  they  appear  to  convey  ;  so  es 
sentially  characteristic  of  the  religion  of  the  Man  of 
Sorrows  did  the  truth  they  imply  seem  ;  that  three 
of  the  evangelists  have  preserved  them  in  the  self 
same  form.  And  here  they  stand,  to  teach  us  the 
necessity  and  the  nobility  of  Christian  self-conquest 
and  self-denial.  As  for  the  terms  in  which  the  text 
is  expressed,  the  only  thing  about  them  that  needs 
explanation  is  that  reference  to  taking  up  the  cross 
daily ;  and  most  of  you  are  doubtless  aware  that  the 
allusion  is  to  the  fact  that  criminals  sentenced  to  the 
barbarous  punishment  of  crucifixion  were  forced  to 
carry  their  own  cross  to  the  place  of  execution ;  and 
that  sometimes,  for  lesser  offences,  the  criminal  was 
sentenced  simply  to  carry  a  cross.  And  thus  the 


CHRISTIAN  SELF-DENIAL.  275 

meaning  of  our  Lord's  words  is,  that  if  any  man,  then 
or  now,  wishes  to  be  his  disciple,  that  man  must 
make  up  his  mind  to  daily  self-denial,  and  to  the 
daily  bearing  of  burdens,  more  or  less  painful  to  be 
borne.  It  was  not  a  smooth  or  attractive  account  of 
his  religion  that  the  Blessed  Redeemer  gave.  He 
said  frankly  that  its  requirements  were  hard,  that  its 
standard  was  high,  that  it  might,  nay,  that  it  would, 
lead  along  paths  where  it  would  not  be  pleasant  to 
walk  ;  and  that  if  its  ultimate  rewards  were  glorious, 
you  must  go  through  a  great  deal  to  reach  them,  and 
they  were  far  away.  The  founder  of  a  new  religion 
would  be  likely  to  repel  men  anywhere,  if  he  dwelt 
strongly  upon  the  persecutions  and  hardships  which 
those  who  went  with  him  were  sure  to  meet ;  but  the 
Jews  of  the  Saviour's  time  were  of  all  men  the  most 
likely  to  be  repelled  by  such  statements  as  these. 
For,  as  you  know,  worldly  prosperity  was  the  blessing 
of  the  Old  Testament,  even  as  worldly  adversity  is 
sometimes  the  promise  of  the  New ;  the  Israelites 
regarded  wealth,  long  life,  and  earthly  comfort  and 
honor,  as  marks  of  the  Divine  favor ;  they  had  not 
learned,  as  we  have,  that  sometimes  "  whom  the  Lord 
loveth  he  chasteneth,  and  scourgeth  every  son  whom 
he  receiveth."  But  notwithstanding  all  this,  the  truth 
must  be  told  ;  the  Saviour  would  not  enlist  men  under 
his  banner  as  earthly  commanders  sometimes  do,  by 
false  representations  ;  —  by  putting  very  prominently 
the  ideas  of  glory  and  victory,  and  saying  very  little 


27  G  CHRISTIAN  SELF-DENIAL. 

of  certain  privations  and  perils,  of  possible  defeat  and 
death.  No  man  could  ever  say  worse  of  the  Redeem 
er's  service,  than  the  Redeemer  himself  was  content 
to  do.  For  "  he  said  unto  them  all,  If  any  man  will 
come  after  me,  let  him  deny  himself,  and  take  up  his 
cross  daily,  and  follow  me." 

The  Saviour  hardly  ever  said  words  whose  bearing 
is  more  direct  upon  the  practical  work  of  our  daily 
living  ;  and  though  it  is  a  bold  thing  to  make  the 
assertion,  we  do  not  hesitate  to  assert  that  no  words 
ever  uttered  by  Christ  were  ever  so  misunderstood  and 
misinterpreted  by  very  many  men,  in  many  places, 
and  in  many  ages.  You  would  say  that  nothing  could 
be  more  plain,  than  that  what  our  Lord  meant  when 
he  said  these  words,  was,  that  whosoever  earnestly 
tried  to  lead  a  Christian  life  would  find  it  needful 
to  make  many  sacrifices  of  feeling  and  inclination  for 
duty's  and  religion's  sake  ;  to  do  many  things  which 
would  be  painful  and  difficult,  and  to  turn  away  from 
many  things  attractive  and  alluring,  Our  Lord  plainly 
meant  that  no  matter  how  difficult  and  painful  any 
duty  might  be,  we  must  do  it,  if  our  allegiance  to 
him  demanded  that  we  should  ;  and  that  no  matter 
how  dear  anything  might  be,  though  it  should  be  our 
most  cherished  hope  or  possession,  we  must  give  it  up, 
if  it  stood  between  us  and  our  salvation  ;  yea,  that  we 
should  be  willing  to  cut  off  a  right  hand  or  to  pluck 
out  a  right  eye,  if  these  offended  us  in  our  heavenward 
career.  And  I  need  hardly  tell  you  that  when  our 


CHRISTIAN  SELF-DENIAL.  277 

translation  of  the  Bible  was  made,  the  word  offend  did 
not  bear  the  meaning  with  which  we  are  now  familiar, 
but  meant  obstruct  or  prove  a  stumbling-block.  So  that 
Christ's  teaching  was  that  the  earnest  believer  must 
be  ready  to  give  up  anything,  though  it  should  be  a 
right  hand  or  eye,  that  tended  to  obstruct  him  in  his 
Christian  course  ;  and  that  he  must  be  ready  to  fulfil 
every  Christian  duty,  however  painful,  —  and  to  bear 
every  burden  laid  upon  him  by  the  hand  of  God, 
though  it  should  press  upon  him  heavily  and  sorely, 
as  the  weighty  cross  upon  the  poor  criminal  who  bore 
it  to  the  place  of  doom. 

Well,  that  was  Christ's  teaching  in  the  words  of 
the  text ;  and  that  is  the  spirit  that  breathes  from 
the  whole  New  Testament.  The  spirit  of  Christianity 
says,  Deny  yourself  everything,  however  pleasant,  that 
God  disapproves ;  Bear  every  cross,  however  painful, 
that  God  lays  upon  you  :  Do  every  work,  however 
hard,  that  God  allots  you  ;  Suffer,  labor,  endure  up 
to  martyrdom,  when  your  Redeemer's  voice  calls  you 
to  do  so.  And  the  farther  teaching  of  Christianity  on 
the  subject,  is,  that  in  those  ways  to  tread  which  God 
commands,  we  may  look  for  the  kindly  guardianship 
of  angels ;  and  better  far,  that  through  all  these  trials 
a  Divine  Spirit  will  go  with  us,  giving  us  the  strength, 
guidance,  comfort,  light,  we  need  ;  and  that  all  these 
things  shall  be  made  to  work  together  for  our  eternal 
good  ;  —  that  all  shall  go  to  mature  in  us  a  nobler 
character,  to  develop  all  in  us  that  is  most  Christ-like 


278  CHRISTIAN  SELF-DENIAL. 

and  divine  ;  —  and  so  that  the  "  much  tribulation  "  of 
this  world  shall  tend  to  make  us  the  more  meet  for 
the  glorious  "  kingdom  of  God." 

I  have  thus  sought  to  set  before  you  in  a  brief  form 
the  great  lines  of  Christian  doctrine  concerning  self- 
denial  and  self-sacrifice.  It  may  be  added  here,  that 
this  doctrine  has  proved  sufficient  to  produce  many 
instances  of  the  purest  heroism  that  this  world  has 
ever  witnessed.  Many  a  time  it  has  led  men  to  make 
a  sacrifice  of  feeling  that  demanded  a  sustained  reso 
lution  more  than  equal  to  the  fiery,  feverish  courage 
that  bears  the  forlorn  hope  to  the  deadly  breach. 
Many  a  time  it  has  gained  victories,  silently  won,  in 
struggling  hearts,  to  which  earthly  battle-fields  are 
nothing.  Many  a  time  has  it  led  the  martyr  to  the 
stake,  and  nerved  him  to  abide  in  calmness  the  too 
slowly-rising  flames.  What  incalculable,  what  inex 
pressible  things  has  it  brought  men  to  do,  to  suffer,  to 
resign  !  It  does  its  work,  even  yet,  amid  the  trimness 
of  modern  society.  Ah,  my  brethren,  sometimes  the 
thin  cheek,  the  deep-lined  brow,  the  languid  step,  are 
indications  of  a  heroism  every  whit  as  noble,  of  a 
strife  every  whit  as  fearful,  as  ever  were  hinted  by 
the  empty  sleeve,  the  scarred  face,  the  cross  of  valor 
over  the  brave  heart !  Truly  said  the  wise  man, 
"  Better  is  he  that  ruleth  his  spirit,  than  he  that  taketh 
a  city." 

And  now,  my  brethren,  what  has  man  oftentimes 
made  of  this  Christian  doctrine  of  self-denial  and 


CHRISTIAN  SELF-DENIAL.  279 

bearing  the  cross  !  What  a  wretched,  what  a  foolish 
caricature  of  the  simplicity  and  truth  of  the  gospel ! 
I  should  lament  very  much  if  I  were  in  any  way  to 
exaggerate  or  misrepresent  the  teaching  of  many 
Christians  on  the  subject  of  self-denial ;  but  I  appeal 
to  all  of  you  who  are  acquainted  with  the  history  of 
the  Christian  Church  in  early  ages,  with  the  doctrines 
still  taught  by  the  Church  of  Rome,  and  with  the 
spirit  than  runs  through  a  large  portion  of  contempo 
rary  literature,  if  I  am  not  correct  in  saying  that  there 
are  many  men  and  women  who  fancy  that  it  is  a 
Christian  thing  to  seek  out  painful  and  disagreeable 
things,  and  to  do  them  just  because  they  are  painful 
and  disagreeable,  although  God  never  sent  them  to 
us,  and  although  no  good  whatsoever  is  to  come  of 
our  doing  them.  They  fancy  that  it  is  pleasing  in  the 
sight  of  God,  that  it  is  ennobling  as  regards  our  own 
character,  that  it  is  carrying  out  the  spirit  of  the  text, 
to  seek  out  voluntary  and  self-inflicted  sufferings  ;  to 
cut  off  the  hand  and  pluck  out  the  eye,  though  they 
are  doing  nothing  whatever  to  offend  and  obstruct  us, 
merely  because  to  part  with  the  hand  or  the  eye  is  a 
very  sad  and  painful  thing.  You  all  know  quite  well 
that  the  great  thing  which  in  the  Middle  Ages  caused 
a  man  to  be  regarded  as  a  marvel  of  holiness  was  not 
the  amount  of  good  he  had  done  to  the  souls  of  his 
fellow-men,  but  the  quantity  of  needless  and  aimless 
suffering  which  he  had  inflicted  on  himself;  the  great 
things  which  were  told  to  his  honor  were  such  mat- 


280  CHRISTIAN  SELF-DENIAL. 

ters  as  the  number  of  years  he  had  slept  upon  sharp 
flints  ;  the  bloody  stripes  he  had  daily  laid  upon  him 
self;  the  irksome  garments  he  had  worn;  and  the 
nearness  to  starvation  which  had  been  reached  by  his 
daily  diet.  They  fancied  then  that  the  more  repul 
sive  and  revolting  anything  was,  the  more  like  Christ 
you  would  be  if  you  resolutely  faced  it.  They  for 
got  that  though  Christ  was  the  "  Man  of  Sorrows," 
he  did  not  bear  his  sorrows  just  for  sorrow's  sake  ; 
but  because  a  noble  work  was  to  result  from  them, 

—  the  work    of  man's   salvation    in  consistence  with 
God's  justice  and  glory.     And  such  of  you  as  are  con 
versant  with  the  literature  of  the  present  day  must 
know  how  much  of  the  old  spirit  of  Romish  austerity 

—  the    spirit    that  idolized    Stylites  on   his  pillar  — 
runs  through  a  great  part  of  it.     There  is  a  current 
idea  that  it  is  a  fine  thing  to  go  through  self-imposed 
trials,  —  to  do  what  is  disagreeable  just  because  it  is 
disagreeable ;  it  is  noble  to  climb  Alpine  heights  — 
not  because  the  slightest  good  is  to  come  of  your  do 
ing  so,  —  not  because  you  have  the  faintest  idea  of 
what  you  are  to  do  when  you  reach  their  summit ;  — 
but  just  because  it  is  difficult  and  dangerous  to  climb 
them,  and  most  men  would  rather  not.     Some  people 
nowadays  appear  to  think  that  when  our  blessed  Lord 
uttered   the   sublime   words  which  form  the  text,  he 
meant  that  we  are  to  be  always    seeking  out  a  tribe 
of  petty  disagreeables,  —  constantly  finding  out  some 
thing  we  don't  like  to  do,  and  then  doing  it ;  some 


CHRISTIAN  SELF-DENIAL.  281 

people,  I  do  believe,  have  a  vague  impression  in  their 
minds  which  they  have  never  put  into  shape,  but 
which  really  comes  to  this,  that  God  would  be  angry 
if  he  saw  his  creatures  cheerful  and  happy.  Oh,  the 
wicked  delusion !  God  is  love !  When  will  men 
believe  that  grand  foundation-truth  !  You  may  see 
something  like  God's  feeling  in  the  kindly  smile  with 
which  the  kind  parent  looks  on  at  the  merry  sports 
of  his  children,  delighted  to  see  them  innocently  happy. 
But  believe  it,  brethren,  there  is  nothing  the  least  like 
God  in  the  sour,  morose  look  of  the  gloomy  fanatic, 
as  he  turns  with  sulky  indignation  from  the  sight  of 
people  who  venture  to  be  harmlessly  cheerful.  Let 
us  try  to  feel  it,  that  God  loves  us  ;  —  that  God  wishes 
us  to  be  happy  ;  —  that  it  was  because  he  loved  us 
and  wished  our  happiness  that  he  sent  his  Son  to  die 
for  us  ;  —  and  that  he  does  not  desire  or  intend  that 
in  this  life  we  should  endure  any  suffering  or  sorrow, 
except  that  which  for  wise  reasons  he  himself  sends 
us,  —  sends  us  for  our  spiritual  good,  and  would  not 
send  us  if  that  end  could  be  attained  without  it  ;  — 
for  "  He  doth  not  afflict  willingly,  nor  grieve  the  chil 
dren  of  men  ! " 

You  now  see,  my  friends,  what  is  the  Christian 
doctrine  of  self-denial ;  and  what  is  the  perversion  of 
it.  Christ  says  that  whosoever  would  be  his  disciple 
must  be  prepared  to  deny  himself,  and  take  up  the 
cross,  because  it  will  oftentimes  be  duty  and  necessity 
to  do  so.  But  those  who  misapprehend  Christ's  mean- 


282  CHRISTIAN  SELF-DENIAL. 

ing,  put  the  case  in  this  way  :  they  say,  Christ  said 
that  if  any  man  will  come  after  him,  he  must  deny 
himself  and  take  up  his  cross  ;  it  therefore  appears 
that  Christ  thought  painful  self-denial  a  good  thing,  a 
wholesome  discipline,  —  perhaps  a  work  of  merit ;  and 
if  self-denial  be  such  a  good  thing,  we  cannot  have  too 
much  of  it ;  the  more  of  it  the  better ;  and  so,  let  us 
seek  out  pain  and  suffering  for  ourselves.  In  short, 
here  is  the  point  at  issue  :  Christianity  says,  Deny 
yourself,  cut  off  the  right  hand,  if  it  be  your  duty  ;  if 
God  call  you  to  do  it ;  and  if  your  soul's  salvation 
and  sanctification  are  to  be  advantaged  by  your  doing 
that.  But  Bhuddism,  Romanism,  Puritanism,  and 
modern  Asceticism,  say,  Deny  yourself,  find  sorrow 
for  yourself,  although  there  is  no  end  or  aim  whatso 
ever  to  be  gained  by  these  ;  for  self-denial  and  self- 
inflicted  suffering  are  good  things  in  themselves.  Ah, 
we  meet  them  here  with  a  flat  denial.  We  say  that 
it  is  the  teaching  of  Jesus,  that  all  the  glory  of  work 
and  self-sacrifice  is  reflected  back  on  them  from  a 
noble  end.  It  is  noble,  it  is  heroic,  it  is  martyrdom, 
to  go  to  the  stake  for  the  cause  of  the  blessed  Re 
deemer  ;  it  is  folly,  it  is  wrong-headedness,  it  is  self- 
murder,  to  give  your  body  to  be  burnt,  merely  because 
to  be  burnt  is  something  terribly  painful  and  abhor 
rent.  The  self-denial  required  by  Jesus  does  not  lie 
in  seeking  needless  suffering  for  ourselves,  but  in 
bearing  humbly  and  submissively  what  should  come 
in  the  discharge  of  Christian  duty.  "  Let  a  man," 


CHRISTIAN  SELF-DENIAL.  283 

says  Jesus,  "  deny  himself,  and  take  up  his  cross,"  — 
his  own  cross,  —  the  cross  God  is  pleased  to  send  him, 
and  no  other  !  Let  him  bear  the  sorrow  allotted  to 
him  in  love  and  wisdom  by  the  Almighty ;  let  him 
not  tempt  the  Lord  by  trying  to  take  the  reins  of 
providence  into  his  own  puny  hands.  Let  us  ever 
seek,  my  brethren,  to  hold  unswervingly  on  our 
Christian  way ;  and  let  us  seek  to  mortify  every 
evil  propensity,  every  worldly  lust,  that  would  turn 
us  aside  from  it.  And  that  will  give  us  enough  to 
do  !  If  we  take  the  trials  God  sends  us  ;  and  strive 
faithfully  against  the  temptations  from  within  and 
without  that  God  permits  to  assail  us  ;  we  shall  find 
that  we  need  not  go  out  of  the  way  to  create  trials  for 
ourselves.  The  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  great  Adver 
sary,  are  hourly  seeking  to  mislead  us  ;  and  if  any 
man  will  come  after  Christ,  he  must  deny  himself,  and 
take  up  his  cross  daily  ! 

And  now,  brethren,  lest  any  of  you  should  fancy 
that  it  is  setting  up  a  low  and  an  unworthy  standard 
of  Christian  self-sacrifice,  to  say  that  it  never  should 
be  attempted  merely  for  its  own  sake ;  let  me  remind 
you  of  a  case  in  point.  Not  one  of  those  romantic 
persons  who  are  represented  in  modern  literature  as 
almost  afraid  to  breathe  God's  air  and  look  on  God's 
sunshine  lest  that  should  be  a  sinful  self-indulgence, — 
not  one  of  them,  I  suppose,  will  pretend  to  exceed  the 
great  apostle  Paul.  And  you  know  that  although  he, 


284  CHRISTIAN  SELF-DENIAL. 

like  the  other  apostles,  was  ready  to  suffer  even  to 
death  in  the  way  of  duty,  and  for  the  gospel's  sake, 
he  never  did  so  gratuitously  ;  he  never  suffered  as 
though  there  were  anything  good  in  the  mere  suffering 
itself.  He  avoided  suffering  whenever  he  could  avoid 
it  without  making  a  sacrifice  of  principle.  You  re 
member  how  on  two  different  occasions  he  pleaded 
his  rights  as  a  Roman  citizen,  to  escape  bonds  and 
stripes.  Yet  he  bore  these  cheerfully  when  they  came 
in  the  way  of  duty  ;  he  could  say,  sincerely,  that  he 
"rejoiced  to  be  thought  worthy  to  suffer  the  shame 
of  stripes  for  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus;"  —  that  is, 
when  they  could  not  be  avoided  but  by  the  giving  up 
of  Christian  principle. 

But  as  regards  suffering  of  any  sort,  it  is  a  fearful 
responsibility  that  rests  upon  the  man  who  wilfully 
brings  it  upon  himself,  with  the  purpose  of  thus  disci 
plining  and  forming  his  character.  It  is  intruding  upon 
the  special  province  of  the  Almighty  God.  When  God 
sends  you  sorrow,  you  may  hope  that  he  will  send 
you  the  grace  to  bear  it  and  profit  by  it ;  you  have  no 
right  to  expect  that,  if  you  presumptuously  bring  it 
upon  yourself.  You  have  sometimes  known  of  a 
mother,  perhaps,  who  was  making  an  idol  of  her  child, 
saying,  long  after,  that  it  was  in  kindness  and  love 
for  her  soul  that  God  took  that  little  one  to  himself; 
that  the  sore  affliction  was  sanctified  for  her  good ; 
that  it  served  to  turn  her  affections  towards  the  better 
world.  .Yes;  it  was  well  for  her  when  God  took 


CHRISTIAN  SELF-DENIAL.  285 

away  her  child.  But  suppose  any  human  being  had 
thought  to  do  her  good  in  this  way  :  suppose  any  man 
had  dared  to  say  to  her,  You  are  making  an  idol  of 
your  child,  —  it  is  injuring  your  soul,  and  therefore  I 
shall  kill  it ;  would  you  not  say  that  that  man  was  a 
profane  intruder  on  the  province  of  Deity ;  would  you 
not  say  that  he  was  a  blasphemous  madman  ?  It  is  so 
of  all  disciplinary  suffering ;  it  is  not  for  us  to  seek 
it  ;  it  is  for  God  to  send  it,  and  for  us  to  bear  it  when 
God  has  sent  it.  If  indeed  it  were  so,  that  suffering 
never  came  without  seeking  it,  then  perhaps  occa 
sional  acts  of  uncalled-for  self-denial  would  be  a  good 
spiritual  discipline  ;  just  as  those  gymnastic  exercises 
which  exert  the  muscles  when  there  is  no  necessity 
for  exerting  them,  tend  to  keep  them  fit  for  use  when 
they  are  needed.  But,  O  brethren,  God  sends  us  trial 
sufficient !  We  have  crosses  enough  to  bear,  to  keep 
our  souls  ever  in  training ;  we  have  occasions  enough 
on  which  God  calls  us  to  deny  ourselves,  without 
seeking  supererogatory  woes.  There  is  no  need  that 
we  should  seek  out  flints  to  sleep  upon,  and  hair 
cloth  to  wear,  scourges  for  our  discipline,  and  vigils 
and  fastings  to  keep  down  our  fleshly  nature ;  there 
is  no  need  to  seek  out  petty  vexations  that  may  daily 
sting  us  like  insects,  nor  weightier  disappointments  to 
crush  out  the  spring  from  life.  No;  so  long  as  we 
are  in  a  world  where  our  hearts  cleave  to  the  dust 
and  worship  the  creature,  we  shall  find  it  needful  to 
mortify  and  crucify  the  affections  which  gravitate 


286  CHRISTIAN  SELF-DENIAL. 

towards  earth  ;  so  long  as  we  are  in  a  world  where 
there  is  work  to  be  done  and  temptation  to  be  met,  so 
long  shall  we  have  to  deny  and  hold  down  a  hundred 
feelings  within,  that  shrink  from  work  and  side  with 
temptation.  And  even  in  a  world  where  "  godliness 
has  the  promise  of  the  life  that  now  is  ; "  and  where 
the  true  believer  is  the  truly  happy  man,  the  Saviour's 
words  have  never  ceased  to  hold  good,  that  "  if  any 
man  will  come  after  me,"  he  must  "  deny  himself,  and 
take  up  his  cross  daily  !  "  Not  that  there  is  merit  in 
any  suffering  of  ours  ;  not  that  by  sufferings  inflicted 
upon  ourselves,  we  have  to  eke  out  anything  that  is 
lacking  in  those  mysterious  sufferings  of  the  Lamb  of 
God  that  took  away  sin ;  not  that  God  grudges  us  the 
cheerful  enjoyment  of  life,  or  that  it  pleases  him  to 
see  his  creatures  wretched  ;  not  that  there  is  anything 
noble  in  crucifying  affections  which  are  beautiful  and 
right,  or  in  denying  ourselves  happiness  which  God 
meant  us  to  partake  ;  not  that  the  noblest  specimen 
of  human  kind  is  the  emaciated  eremite,  with  the 
haggard  face  and  the  wasted  frame,  who  (for  God's 
sake,  as  he  fondly  fancies)  has  weeded  out  all  save 
bitterness  from  life ;  who  has  resolutely  denied  him 
self  everything  that  he  ever  loved,  and  accumulated 
upon  himself  all  that  our  nature  shrinks  from ;  who 
has  no  home,  no  hope,  no  love  ;  not  that  God  would 
have  us  deny  ourselves  anything  that  is  right,  or  take 
up  any  cross  save  that  which  he  himself  imposes; 
but  simply  and  entirely  because  from  the  very  make 


CHRISTIAN  SELF-DENIAL.  287 

of  this  universe,  you  never  can  follow  Christ  without 
finding  that  in  following  him  you  must  deny  your 
selves  many  things,  or  you  will  stray  from  the  right 
path  ;  and  you  cannot,  except  by  denying  your  Lord, 
miss  taking  up  your  cross  daily  ! 

And  it  is  a  far  more  difficult  thing,  a  thing  demand 
ing  far  more  faith  and  prayer,  to  live  in  the  daily  prac 
tice  of  true  Christian  self-denial ;  than  to  heap  upon 
yourself  those  foolish  though  terrible  austerities  in 
which  even  the  Romish  anchorite  has  been  beaten  by 
the  Hindoo  fakir;  and  which  seldom  have  failed  to 
foster  a  deep-set  spiritual  pride,  and  to  produce  a  most 
repulsive  and  unamiable  temper.  No  doubt,  there  is 
a  factitious  pleasure  in  self-imposed  suffering ;  no 
doubt  there  may  be  an  acquired  taste  for  it ;  no  doubt 
there  is  in  human  nature  a  capacity  of  coming  to  feel 
a  positive  satisfaction  in  thinking  how  much  you  are 
denying  yourself,  how  much  you  are  taking  out  of 
yourself;  no  doubt  there  is  a  prejudice,  very  hard  to 
get  rid  of,  that  all  this  is  in  some  way  noble,  bene 
ficial,  pleasing  to  God.  No  doubt  this  erroneous  belief 
has  not  been  confined  alone  to  the  disciples  of  the 
Man  of  Sorrows  ;  it  runs  through  all  religions  ;  India, 
Persia,  Arabia,  have  known  it,  no  less  than  Rome  and 
Scotland ;  the  fakir,  the  eremite,  the  hermit,  the  monk, 
the  covenanter,  have  erred  together  here.  The  Church 
of  England  and  the  Church  of  Scotland  are  no  more 
free  from  the  tendency  to  it,  than  the  Church  of 


288  CHRISTIAN  SELF-DENIAL. 

Rome  ;  and  the  grim  Puritan,  who  thought  it  sinful 
to  smile,  was  just  as  far  wrong  as  the  starved  monastic 
and  the  fleshless  Brahmin.  It  shows  how  all  men, 
everywhere,  have  been  pressed  by  a  common  sense 
of  guilt  against  God,  which  they  thought  to  expiate 
by  self-inflicted  punishment.  But  we,  my  brethren, 
know  better  than  that.  Jesus  died  for  us ;  Jesus 
suffered  for  us  ;  his  sufferings  took  away  our  sins ; 
our  own  sufferings,  how  great  soever,  never  could ; 
Christ's  sacrifice  was  all-sufficient ;  and  any  penance 
on  our  part  is  just  as  needless  as  it  would  be  unavail 
ing.  Take,  then,  brethren,  without  a  scruple  or  a 
misgiving,  the  innocent  enjoyment  of  life.  Let  your 
heart  beat,  gladly  and  thankfully,  by  your  quiet  fire 
side  ;  and  never  dream  that  there  is  anything  of  sinful 
self-indulgence  in  that  pure  delight  with  which  you 
watch  your  children's  sports,  and  hear  their  prattle. 
Look  out  upon  green  spring  fields  and  blossoms,  upon 
summer  woods  and  streams ;  gladden  in  the  bright 
sunshine,  as  well  as  muse  in  the  softening  twilight ; 
and  never  fancy  that  though  these  things  cheer  you 
amid  the  many  cares  of  life,  you  are  falling  short  of 
the  ideal  sketched  by  that  kindly  Teacher  of  self- 
denial  who  said,  "  If  any  man  will  come  after  me,  let 
him  deny  himself,  and  take  up  his  cross  daily !  " 


XVII. 


THE   GREAT  VOICE   FROM   HEAVEN. 

"  And  they  heard  a  great  voice  from  heaven  saying  unto  them, 
Come  up  hither." — REV.  xi.  12. 

HIS  is  a  world,  my  friends,  in  which 
there  is  no  standing  still.  Ceaseless 
progress  is  the  law  of  nature.  Every 
thing  is  going  on.  Time  is  going  on  ; 
life  is  going  on ;  among  all  visible  things  there  is 
nothing  that  remains  always  the  same ;  everything  is 
either  wearing  out  or  growing  better  ;  some  things 
indeed  more  slowly  than  others ;  but  even  the  living 
rock  crumbles  in  the  lapse  of  ages  ;  and  the  everlasting 
hills  wax  old. 

And  in  our  lives,  my  brethren,  we  feel  it  often,  and 
sometimes  we  feel  it  sadly,  there  is  no  pause  nor  cease. 
We  have  all  of  us,  perhaps,  known  quiet  and  happy 
days  that  we  would  have  liked  should  never  have 
gone  over ;  seasons  when  it  would  have  pleased  us  if 
time  would  just  have  stood  still.  But  whether  it  be 
the  school-boy,  who  wishes  the  day  would  never  come 
that  is  to  take  him  once  more  from  the  love  of  the 
home  fireside  to  the  cold  indifference  of  strangers ;  or 
13 


290  THE  GREAT  VOICE  FROM  HEAVEN. 

the  youth,  doomed  to  long  years  of  Indian  exile,  who 
lingers,  with  a  sinking  heart,  on  every  moment  of  the 
last  days  he  is  to  spend  among  dear  ones  whom  he 
may  see  no  more  ;  or  the  man  condemned  to  die  to 
morrow,  who  wonders  what  makes  the  hours  fly  so 
fearfully  fast  when  he  most  longs  for  their  lingering ; 
all  men  feel  that  there  is  no  making  life  stand  still. 
Indeed,  it  is  more  especially  on  the  life  of  man,  and 
the  formation  of  his  character,  that  this  law  of  prog 
ress  lies ;  it  has  been  suspended  to  many  things  else, 
but  to  these  never.  The  sun  once  stood  still,  but 
human  life  never,  did.  The  shadow  on  the  dial  went 
back,  but  all  the  time  the  shadow  of  death  was  steal 
ing  lower  on  the  brow  of  man.  The  Jordan  was 
arrested  in  its  course,  but  the  stream  of  Time  flowed 
on.  There  is  indeed  in  human  life  sometimes  an 
appearance  of  standing  still.  We  have  all  observed 
that  many  a  man  among  us  remains  for  years  very 
much  the  same  in  external  appearance ;  we  see  little 
outward  difference  in  him  from  what  he  was  this  time 
last  year,  or  what  he  was  five  or  ten  years  since.  But 
he  has  not  been  standing  still ;  to  the  eye  of  God  he 
is  a  very  different  man ;  he  has  moved  away  from  the 
point  where  he  stood  before;  he  is  so  many  years 
more  confirmed  in  the  service  of  God  or  the  service 
of  Mammon  ;  so  many  years  more  bent  on  the  things 
of  time  and  sense,  or  elevated  to  the  interests  of  eter 
nity  ;  so  many  years  more  grown  into  that  habit  of 
mind  in  which  he  will  live  forever.  Here,  in  truth, 


THE  GREAT  VOICE  FROM  HEAVEN.  291 

we  have  no  continuing  city  ;  our  feet  are  not  set  upon 
solid  land  ;  from  birth  to  death  we  are  carried  on  by 
a  rapid  current  against  which  there  is  no  striving. 
We  are  cast,  at  birth,  upon  the  stream  of  Time ;  and 
we  must  grow  and  decay  as  the  stream  flows  on  with 
us.  Sometimes  it  bears  us  as  it  were  through  happy 
fields,  where  flowers  grow  along  the  banks,  and  green 
leaves  are  reflected  on  its  waves  ;  by  a  motion  so  calm 
and  quiet  that  we  hardly  feel  we  are  advancing.  But 
the  current  goes  on  yet;  goes  on  in  the  quietest 
country-place,  where  the  pulse  beats  calmest,  no  less 
than  in  the  throng  and  excitement  of  the  great  city ; 
and  in  fast  fleeting  strength,  and  fast  fading  beauty, 
in  the  silvering  hair  and  the  withering  cheek,  in  an 
ticipations  sobered  and  tempers  mellowed  or  perhaps 
soured,  in  the  soul  more  earthly  or  more  heavenly,  we 
see  the  work  it  is  doing.  You  and  I,  my  friends,  are 
going  on  ;  and  the  great  question  then  is,  Whither? 

Now  there  are  just  two  ways  in  which  men  can  ad 
vance.  Advance  they  must;  and  there  are  just  two 
great  tracks  along  which  all  possible  progress  is  bear 
ing  all  human  beings.  The  one  leads  upwards,  and 
its  end  is  heaven  ;  the  other  leads  downwards,  and  its 
end  is  perdition.  In  one  of  these  ways  every  man 
is  walking ;  every  one  of  us  here  is  advancing  either 
to  heaven  or  to  hell.  Yet  a  little  while,  and  we  who 
are  here  met  in  one  place,  may  be  parted  by  a  gulf 
which  all  eternity  can  never  bridge  over.  In  far  less 
than  a  hundred  years  you  will  have  walked  your  last 


292     THE  GREAT  VOICE  FROM  HEAVEN. 

mile  along  the  path  in  life  you  made  choice  of;  you 
will  have  reached  either  the  glory  or  the  grief  in 
which  the  two  paths  end.  And  God  knows  there  are 
voices  enough  to  invite  us  along  the  downward  road  to 
ruin.  Pleasure,  with  her  siren  voice ;  Fame,  with  her 
trumpet  tongue  ;  Worldliness,  with  its  choking  cares  ; 
Temptation  of  every  kind,  with  its  varied  allurement ; 
all  tend  to  lead  men  on  in  a  way  which  is  not  heaven 
ward.  And  man's  own  weak  heart,  with  its  vain  af 
fections,  lends  a  willing  ear  to  these  congenial  invita 
tions,  till  the  whole  soul  is  engrossed  by  things  seen 
and  temporal ;  and  then  the  unseen  realities  of  eter 
nity  are  forgotten,  till  death  rends  the  veil  of  flesh 
away ! 

But  let  us,  my  friends,  this  Sunday  afternoon,  try 
to  bring  in  our  minds  from  the  cares  of  our  daily  life  ; 
and  listen,  in  thoughtful  attention,  to  a  Great  Voice 
from  heaven  which  says  to  us,  Come  up  hither.  Let 
us  consider  whether  there  be  not  a  voice  around  us, 
not  speaking  indeed  to  the  outward  ear,  but  speaking 
all  the  more  solemnly  to  the  heart ;  stealing  gently 
upon  us  in  our  thoughtful  hours,  and  breaking  rudely 
in  on  the  busy  whirl  of  life  ;  blending  with  our  own 
serious  moods,  and  sometimes  checking  the  power  of 
folly.  And  if  we  never  observed  it  before,  let  us  listen 
now  ;  let  us  think  whether  there  be  not  near  us  an 
other  voice  than  that  of  birds  and  winds  and  waters ; 
a  voice  that  harmonizes  with  these,  and  yet  stands 
apart  from  them ;  a  voice  from  God's  dealings  and 


THE  GREAT  VOICE  FROM  HEAVEN.          293 

God's  word,  from  Christ's  cross  and  Christ's  throne, 
from  the  Blessed  Spirit  the  Sanctifier  and  Comforter, 
from  angels  and  apostles,  from  saints  and  martyrs,  and 
from  our  own  dear  friends  who  once  trod  by  our  side 
the  thorny  path  of  life,  and  who  have  gone  before  us. 

First,  then,  the  voice  of  God  comes  to  us  from 
heaven,  and  says  to  us,  Come  up  hither. 

We  need  hardly  say  that  none  of  us  who  are  here 
now  has  ever  heard  God's  voice  with  the  outward  ear. 
We  have  listened  to  the  thunder,  as  it  rolled  above 
us,  but  no  articulate  words  were  there.  Where  the 
wind  rustled  the  leaves,  their  sounds  were  not  those 
of  our  English  tongue ;  and  where  great  sea-billows 
thundered  their  anthem  of  praise,  it  was  the  mind  of 
those  who  listened  that  clothed  their  stormy  music  in 
meaning.  The  true  voice  of  God  speaks  not  to  the 
ear  but  to  the  heart ;  for  wherever  God  does  that  in 
which  man  can  make  out  deep  meaning  ;  —  wherever 
what  happens  to  us  teaches  us  a  great  lesson ;  — 
wherever  in  nature,  or  providence,  or  revelation,  we 
can  find  out  what  is  the  mind  of  God  ;  —  there  is  God 
speaking  to  us.  And  it  is  in  this  fashion  that  God 
says  to  us,  Come  up  hither.  He  says  these  words  to 
us,  in  very  truth,  in  a  voice  more  solemn,  though  it  be 
more  still,  than  any  which  this  world  of  sense  could 
make-  Get  the  key  to  the  cipher  in  which  the  Al 
mighty  expresses  his  purposes,  and  you  will  find  that 
from  every  quarter  to  which  our  eyes  can  be  turned, 


294  THE  GREAT  VOICE  FROM  HEAVEN. 

from  every  thought  on  which  our  minds  can  rest, 
from  every  event  that  befalls  us,  from  every  joy  that 
cheers  us,  from  every  grief  that  saddens  us,  from 
every  care  that  perplexes,  from  every  disappointment 
felt,  from  every  hope  deferred,  from  every  friend  that 
fails  us,  from  every  man  that  dies,  —  we  can  discern 
and  discover  that  God  never  meant  that  man  should 
take  any  path  but  that  which  leads  to  heaven.  In 
what  a  multitude  of  ways  he  has  shown  us  that  it  is 
upwards  he  would  have  us  go  ;  what  hosts  of  things 
and  events  and  circumstances  and  actions,  stand  like 
guideposts  of  God's  own  erecting  along  the  way  of 
life,  pointing  us  away  from  this  world,  inscribed  in 
great  letters  —  To  Heaven!  There  is  the  vanity  which 
God  has  impressed  upon  all  earthly  objects  ;  what 
means  that,  unless  it  be,  that  the  place  of  our  affec 
tions,  and  the  home  of  our  heart,  should  be  some 
where  else,  amid  purer  and  holier  things?  Would  a 
Being  of  infinite  goodness  have  placed  men,  with  their 
capacity  of  infinite  happiness,  in  a  scene  where  every 
rose  has  its  thorn,  every  blessing  its  canker,  and  where 
every  imagined  source  of  enjoyment,  if  compassed  to 
the  utmost,  would  still  leave  an  aching  void  within,  — 
if  he  had  not  meant,  thus  disheartening  them  with 
things  seen,  to  make  them  think,  May  there  not  be 
something  more  satisfying  and  more  real  that  is  not 
seen  as  yet ;  and  since  there  well  may  be  a  better 
world  than  this,  may  we  not  take  God's  word  that 
there  is  ;  —  should  we  not  bestir  ourselves,  and  seek 


THE  GREAT  VOICE  FROM  HEAVEN.          295 

out  the  way,  and  go  up  thither  ?  And  then,  death  and 
change  ;  the  mutability  of  the  most  permanent  things, 
the  fleeting  character  of  the  most  precious  things,  the 
evanescence  of  the  happiest  feelings  ;  —  what  mean 
these,  but  to  turn  our  thoughts  to  a  place  where 
"  every  loveliest  thing  lasts  longest,"  where  joy  is 
eternal,  and  decay  never  comes  ?  And  when  God 
resumes  the  friends  he  gave  us  ;  —  when  the  sudden 
stroke,  or  the  slow  decline,  has  snatched  or  has  worn 
down  those  we  love  to  the  house  appointed  for  all  liv 
ing  ;  when  the  ties  that  bound  us  to  earth  seem  almost 
parted,  and  we  feel  "  the  bitterness  of  death,"  and  the 
soul  turns  weary  away  from  all  things  here,  and  longs 
for  the  rest  and  the  meeting  which  never  can  be  in 
this  world  ;  —  is  not  all  this  God's  sharp  discipline  to 
turn  us  into  the  upward  way  ;  God's  solemn  voice 
saying  to  us,  Come  up  hither,  —  where  anguish  is 
never  felt,  and  friends  are  never  parted  ? 

But  we  are  not  left  to  read,  by  the  light  of  reason, 
the  pages  of  nature  and  providence  alone,  to  find 
which  way  God  would  have  us  go.  Elsewhere  God's 
voice  is  heard  more  plainly  ;  heard  in  the  thunders  of 
the  law,  and  the  invitations  and  promises  of  the  gos 
pel.  The  whole  Bible  is  a  great  voice  from  heaven, 
saying,  Come  up  hither.  For,  what  is  the  Bible,  but 
the  history  of  that  plan  of  redemption,  but  for  which 
all  men  must  have  trodden  one  broad  way,  the  down 
ward  way  to  ruin  ?  It  is  revelation  that  furnishes  us 
with  convincing  proof  that  it  is  the  upward  path 


296     THE  GREAT  VOICE  FROM  HEAVEN. 

which  God  would  have  us  choose  from  the  two  that 
lie  before  us.  Had  he  willed  that  we  should  take 
the  downward  path,  he  had  but  to  leave  us  alone ; 
and  then  the  curse  of  that  law  which  we  have  every 
one  of  us  broken  would  have  crushed  us  down  to 
final  woe.  There  was  but  one  road  before  us  by 
nature  ;  only  one  road,  save  for  the  work  and  sacrifice 
of  him  who  said  of  himself,  "  I  am  the  way."  And 
could  there  be  more  certain  proof  that  God  would 
have  us  choose  the  path  to  glory  rather  than  this,  — 
that  he  made  that  path  where  before  there  was  none ; 
that  path  which  begins  as  it  were  from  every  poor 
man's  door,  but  ends  in  glory  which  no  mortal  eye 
hath  seen  !  And  lest  the  doubting  spirit  should  fear 
that  such  a  path  was  riot  made  for  it,  in  its  unworthi- 
ness,  the  Bible  is  thronged  with  declarations  of  God's 
desire,  that  "  not  any  should  perish,"  but  that  "  all 
should  come  to  repentance  ; "  that  all  should  "  for 
sake  their  wickedness  and  live ; "  that  "  the  wicked 
should  forsake  his  way,  and  the  unrighteous  man  his 
thoughts  ;  and  return  to  the  Lord  that  he  may  have 
mercy  upon  him,  and  to  our  God,  for  he  will  abun 
dantly  pardon." 

Nor  should  we  forget,  that  although  the  upward 
road  to  life  is  so  free  to  us, — open  to  us  "without 
money  and  without  price,"  —  it  cost  the  Almighty  an 
infinite  price  to  make  it ;  and  in  the  price  he  paid  — 
his  dear  Son's  life  —  to  make  this  upward  road,  you 
may  see  how  sincerely  he  desires  that  men  should 


THE  GREAT  VOICE  FROM  HEAVEN.  297 

have  such  a  way,  and  should  avail  themselves  of  it. 
You  have  heard  of  great  roads  made  by  human  hands, 
for  the  passage  perhaps  of  armies,  or  for  leading  the 
commerce  and  civilization  of  milder  regions  through 
rugged  and  desert  tracts.  You  have  heard  how  the 
everlasting  hill  has  been  pierced  through,  and  the 
living  rock  blasted,  and  the  mighty  river  bridged,  and 
the  far-stretching  valley  spanned  over ;  how  all  the 
wealth  of  kings  and  states,  and  all  the  energies  of 
thousands  of  men  and  decades  of  years,  have  been 
bent  on  the  great  beneficial  work,  that  was  to  in 
crease  men  in  wealth  and  comfort.  And  even  yet,  it 
is  fine  to  look  on  these  unperishing  monuments  of  the 
industry  and  skill  of  past  ages  ;  these  hoary  relics  of 
an  ancient  race  of  gigantic  strength  and  gigantic  en 
ergy  ;  and  then  to  think  how  long  man's  works  may 
outlive  man's  self ;  —  to  think  where  are  now  the 
hands  that  quarried  these  huge  stones,  and  reared 
these  time-worn  arches  —  where  the  feet  that  trod 
them  first,  and  the  eyes  that  saw  them  when  they 
were  fresh  and  new.  And  our  own  modern  days  have 
seen  roads  more  wonderful  still  link  distant  cities  and 
provinces,  making  space  almost  vanish,  and  perplexing 
our  old  notions  of  time,  making  the  bustling  city  a 
near  neighbor  of  the  sylvan  quiet,  and  bringing  the 
deep  hum  of  crowded  men  almost  close  to  the  still 
music  of  nature.  But  oh  !  how  infinitely  little  all  these 
ways  which  man  has  made,  —  how  utterly  insignifi 
cant  the  price  they  cost,  —  compared  with  that  mighty 
13* 


298          THE  GREAT  VOICE  FROM  HEAVEN. 

way  which  bridges  the  space  between  earth  and  heav 
en,  —  the  time  between  now  darkly  and  then  face  to 
face  ;  which  it  cost  Christ's  sufferings  to  make,  Christ's 
death  to  open ;  —  which  the  feet  of  patriarchs  and 
prophets,  of  saints  and  martyrs,  have  trod  ;  —  and 
along  which  the  Saviour  invites  us  to  follow  !  Oh, 
brethren,  if  it  proved  the  military  commander's  in 
tense  determination  to  convey  his  army  to  a  point  he 
had  fixed  on,  when  through  Alpine  solitudes  and 
snows  he  cut  his  onward  path,  with  lavish  expense  of 
labor  and  of  life  ;  is  it  not  fair  to  reckon  that  when 
the  Almighty  at  the  expense  of  his  dear  Son's  blood, 
opened  the  way  to  heaven,  and  made  it  plain  for  man 
to  tread,  he  did  by  that  very  act  call  from  heaven 
to  man  with  affectionate,  earnest  entreaty,  and  say 
"  Come  up  hither  !  " 

A  second  voice  that  invites  us  up  to  heaven  is  that 
of  our  Blessed  Saviour. 

We  have  spoken  hitherto  of  the  First  Person  in  the 
Trinity,  —  of  God  the  Father  ;  and  we  have  seen  that 
in  many  ways  he  is  calling  upon  men  to  turn  their 
steps  into  the  path  to  glory.  But  we  are  now  to  speak 
of  One  whose  name  makes  appeal  to  deeper  and  ten 
derer  sympathies  than  even  that  of  God  ;  of  that  be 
loved  Divine  Person  who  has  learned  by  experience 
what  it  is  to  be  a  man.  He  was  whatever  we  have 
been,  sin  only  excepted.  And  the  same  gracious 
voice  which  spake  so  kindly  to  the  least  deserving 
while  he  dwelt  on  earth,  speaks  to  our  hearts  yet 


THE  GREAT  VOICE  FROM  HEAVEN.    299 

from  the  glory  where  he  dwells,  and  says  to  us,  "  Come 
up  hither."  For  even  now  he  says,  as  before,  "  I  am 
the  way ; "  "  Follow  me  ; "  "  Come  unto  me,  all  ye 
that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you 
rest;"  "  If  any  man  serve  me,  let  him  follow  me  ;  and 
•where  I  am,  there  shall  also  my  servant  be : "  "  and 
if  I  go  and  prepare  a  place  for  you,  I  will  come  again 
and  receive  you  unto  myself;  that  where  I  am,  there 
ye  may  be  also : "  "  Father,  I  will  that  they  also  whom 
thou  hast  given  me  be  with  me  where  I  am,  that  they 
may  behold  my  glory  which  thou  hast  given  me." 
And  what  mean  all  these  gracious  words  but  this, 
that  Christ  would  have  men  choose  the  upward  way, 
though  the  gate  be  strait  and  the  path  be  steep  ? 
"  I  am  the  way,"  says  Christ :  and  whither,  but  to 
heaven?  "Follow  me,"  says  Christ:  and  whither,  but 
to  heaven  ?  "I  will  that  where  I  am,  there  ye  may  be 
also  : "  and  where  is  that,  but  heaven  ?  Does  he  not 
thus  cry  to  us,  "Come  up  hither"?  Oh,  may  it  be 
the  answer  of  our  hearts,  Lord,  we  come ;  for,  blessed 
be  thy  name  !  whither  thou  hast  gone  and  where 
thou  art,  we  know,  and  the  way  we  know !  And  put 
ting  out  of  view  altogether  the  many  invitations  to 
sinners  to  repent  and  be  saved,  which  our  Saviour 
uttered,  and  which  his  apostles  uttered  in  his  name  ; 
putting  out  of  view  altogether  the  fearful  representa 
tions  he  gave  of  the  place  of  woe  and  the  miseries  of 
its  tenants,  and  the  beautiful  pictures  he  drew  of  the 
rest  and  happiness  of  the  blessed,  —  all  calculated  in 


300     THE  GREAT  VOICE  FROM  HEAVEN. 

the  highest  degree  to  startle  and  to  invite  sinners  to 
thought  and  repentance,  —  what  was  the  Redeemer's 
whole  appearance  on  earth,  but  one  earnest,  unceas 
ing,  life-long  entreaty  that  men  would  turn  to  God  ? 
It  was  all  that  men  might  "  wash  their  robes  and 
make  them  white  in  his  blood,  and  therefore  appear 
before  the  throne  "  on  high,  —  it  was  all  for  this  that 
he  lay  in  the  manger  at  Bethlehem ;  it  was  all  for  this 
he  went  about  doing  good ;  it  was  for  this  he  preached 
his  every  sermon,  and  wrought  his  every  miracle,  and 
withstood  his  every  temptation,  and  bore  his  every 
pang  of  pain.  It  was  all  for  this  that  the  sun  was 
darkened,  and  the  rocks  were  rent,  and  the  dead  came 
back,  and  all  nature  shuddered  at  the  sufferings  of  the 
expiring  Son  of  God  !  And  the  Saviour  even  yet 
appears  to  remind  us  of  all  his  earthly  travail  and 
sorrow  ;  and  to  whisper  to  our  hearts,  As  ye  would  not 
that  all  that  should  prove  in  vain,  — "  Come  up 
hither  !  "  I  died  that  ye  might  have  leave  to  come ! 
And  will  ye  not  "  come  unto  me,  that  ye  might  have 
life  ?  " 

The  Blessed  Spirit,  too,  adds  his  voice  to  that 
which  invites  us  towards  heaven.  The  whole  scope 
and  object  of  his  working,  meant  as  that  chiefly  is  to 
make  us  fit  for  heaven,  is  an  indication  of  his  design 
and  his  wish  that  we  should  go  up  thither.  The 
Spirit  the  Purifier,  as  he  makes  us  holier  and  better, 
thus  fitting  us  for  a  clearer  atmosphere  and  a  nobler 
company,  is  ever  whispering  within  us  that  it  must 


THE  GREAT  VOICE  FROM  HEAVEN.    301 

be  a  higher  life  in  which  virtue  shall  be  perfect,  and 
another  world  in  which  hearts  shall  be  pure.  As  his 
gradual  influences,  like  gentle  rain,  steal  into  the  soul ; 
as  the  fruits  of  righteousness  appear,  and  the  work  of 
sanctification  progresses  day  by  day,  —  what  is  this 
for,  but  that  we  may  be  made  meet  for  the  place 
where  God  is  seen,  —  fitted  for  the  society  of  the 
spirits  of  the  just  ?  It  is  not  for  time  that  his  seed 
is  sown  ;  it  is  not  for  time  that  his  harvest  grows; 
and  though  his  blessed  influences  may  rear  up  virtues 
which  shed  a  fragrance  over  this  sinful  earth,  and 
breathe  a  'blessing  on  the  weary  hearts  of  suffering 
men,  and  make  Christianity  a  name  to  be  revered,  and 
the  true  Christian  one  whom  the  eye  sees  and  blesses, 
—  yet  it  is  in  a  more  genial  clime  that  this  gracious 
work  is  made  perfect ;  and  thus  the  Holy  Spirit,  as  he 
works  to  make  us  fit  for  heaven,  is  not  uncertainly 
calling  us  up  thither. 

And  the  Spirit  in  his  great  work  of  comfort,  too,  is 
calling  to  us  from  heaven,  "  Come  up  hither."  If  you 
consider,  you  will  see  that  there  is  a  reference  to 
heaven  in  every  part  of  the  Comforter's  work.  For, 
is  not  the  great  comfort  when  dear  friends  die,  that 
we  may  meet  them  yet,  where  farewells  and  partings 
are  a  sound  unknown  ?  Is  not  the  great  comfort 
under  the  pressure  of  suffering,  that  there  is  a  place 
where  there  is  no  more  pain  ?  Is  not  the  great  com 
fort  in  the  night  of  weeping,  that  God  tells  us  of 
heaven,  that  there  is  no  night  there  ?  Is  not,  in  short, 


302     THE  GREAT  VOICE  FROM  HEAVEN. 

the  great  comfort  of  earth,  that  there  is  such  a  place 
as  heaven  ! 

Is  it  fanciful  to  think  that  the  angels,  too,  concern 
ing  whom  we  know  that  they  rejoice  when  a  sinner 
repents  and  prays,  and  thus  gives  the  first  sign  of 
choosing  the  heavenward  path,  add  their  voices  to 
the  great  call  thither?  And  surely  the  apostles  and 
martyrs,  who  first  preached  the  gospel  of  Jesus,  in 
labor  and  peril  and  much  tribulation,  until  the  fiery 
or  the  bloody  baptism  sent  them  from  their  work  to 
their  reward,  —  seem,  in  no  fanciful  sense,  to  be  even 
yet  pointing  to  all  they  did  and  suffered  that  men 
might  know  a  way  to  heaven  was  made,  and  asking 
if  all  that  shall  have  been  in  vain.  Even  yet, 
from  the  pages  of  the  inspired  history,  the  burning 
zeal  of  Paul  reproves  the  lingerer;  even  yet,  the 
proto-martyr  Stephen,  from  where  his  dying  eye  saw 
Christ  standing,  says,  "  Come  up  hither !  "  And  the 
whole  of  the  noble  army  who  from  that  day  to  this, 
have  borne  a  martyr's  testimony  to  the  faith  of  Jesus, 

—  from  the    first  whom  Jewish  stones    crushed,  and 
Roman  lions  tore,  and  Greek  philosophers  laughed  at, 

—  to  the  last  whom  the  clubs  of  savages  slew,  and  the 
racks  of  the  Inquisition    silenced,  and   the   venomed 
shaft  Of  polished  ridicule  assailed,  —  seem  to  cry  in 
one  vast  voice  from  their  place  of  rest,  —  "  Come  up 
hither  !  " 

And  now  in  the  last  place,  brethren,  there  is  one 
voice  more  that  invites  us  up  to  heaven  ;  one  voice 


THE  GREAT  VOICE  FROM  HEAVEN.          303 

more,  that  adds  itself  to  that  great  call,  to  the  several 
parts  of  which  we  have  been  listening.  It  is  the  voice 
of  those  dear  friends  who  have  fallen  asleep  in  Jesus, 
and  gone  before  us  from  the  place  we  knew  together. 
There  are  few,  indeed,  who  have  lived  long  in  this 
world,  and  have  not  stood  by  the  bed  of  the  dying ; 
and  let  us  hope  that  there  are  many  who  have  seen  a 
Christian  friend  or  brother  depart: —  who  have  looked 
on  such  a  one  as  life,  but  not  love,  ebbed  away,  —  as 
the  eye  of  sense  grew  dim,  but  that  of  faith  waxed 
bright  and  brighter.  Have  you  heard  such  a  one,  in 
bidding  you  farewell,  whisper  that  it  was  not  forever ; 
have  you  heard  such  a  one  tell  you  so  to  live,  as  that 
death  might  only  remove  you  to  a  place  where  there 
is  no  dying ;  and  as  you  felt  the  pressure  of  that  cold 
hand,  and  saw  the  earnest  spirit  that  shone  through 
those  glazing  eyes,  have  you  not  resolved  and  prom 
ised  that,  God  helping  you,  you  would  ?  And  ever 
since,  have  you  not  felt,  that  though  death  has  sealed 
those  lips,  and  that  heart  is  turning  back  to  clay,  that 
voice  is  speaking  yet,  that  heart  is  caring  for  you  yet, 
that  soul  is  remembering  yet,  the  words  it  last  spoke 
to  you  ?  From  the  abode  of  glory  it  says,  "  Come  up 
hither!"  The  way  is  steep,  the  ascent  is  toilsome; 
it  knows  it  well,  for  it  trod  it  once  ;  but  it  knows  now, 
what  it  knew  not  then,  how  bright  the  reward,  how 
pleasant  the  rest  that  remaineth,  after  the  toil  is  past. 
And  if,  my  brethren,  we  go  with  interest  to  the  grave 
of  a  much-loved  friend,  who  bade  us,  when  dying, 


304     THE  GREAT  VOICE  FROM  HEAVEN. 

sometimes  to  visit  the  place  where  he  should  be  laid 
when  dead  ;  —  if  you  hold  a  request  like  that  sacred ; 
—  tell  me,  how  much  more  solemnly  and  earnestly  we 
should  seek  to  go  where  the  conscious  spirit  lives  than 
where  the  senseless  body  moulders  ?  If  day  after  day 
sees  you  come  to  shed  the  pensive  tear  of  memory 
over  the  narrow  bed  where  that  dear  one  is  sleeping ; 
if  amid  the  hot  whirl  of  your  daily  engagements,  you 
find  a  calm  impressed,  as  you  stand  in  that  still  spot 
where  no  worldly  care  ever  comes,  and  think  of  the 
heart  which  no  grief  vexes  now  ;  if  the  sound  of  the 
world  melts  into  distance  and  fades  away  on  the  ear, 
at  that  point  whence  the  world  looks  so  little ;  if  the 
setting  sun,  as  it  makes  the  gravestone  glow,  reminds 
you  of  evening  hours  and  evening  scenes  long  since 
departed ;  and  the  waving  grass,  through  which  the 
wind  sighs  so  softly,  speaks  of  that  one  who  "  faded  as 
a  leaf,"  and  left  you  like  "  a  wind  that  passeth  away 
and  cometh  not  again  ;  "  —  oh,  how  much  more  should 
every  day  see  you  striving  up  the  way  which  will  con 
duct  you  where  the  living  spirit  dwells,  and  whence  it 
is  ever  calling  to  you,  "  Come  up  hither ! "  It  was 
the  weak  fancy  of  a  dying  man  that  bade  you  come 
to  his  burying-place  ;  but  it  is  the  perpetual  entreaty 
of  a  living  seraph  that  invites  you  to  join  it  there  ! 

Mothers,  who  have  seen  your  little  ones  depart, 
believe  that  from  that  glory  in  which  there  are  far 
more  little  children  than  grown-up  men,  they  are  call 
ing  you  to  join  them.  Listen,  wherever  you  go  ;  and 


THE  GREAT  VOICE  FROM  HEAVEN.  305 

your  heart  will  hear  a  little,  familiar  voice,  saying, 
"  Come  up  hither."  Parents,  who  have  seen  your 
children  die  in  the  bloom  of  youthful  hope  and  beauty, 
and  in  the  faith  and  hope  of  the  gospel,  —  remember 
that  you  can  now  reckon  an  angel  among  your  family ; 
and  believe  that  he  or  that  she  whom  you  remember 
so  well,  remembers  you  not  less ;  and  believe,  too, 
that  the  dear  voice,  which  you  sometimes  hear  in 
dreams,  is  coming  down  from  heaven  to  you  with  a 
thousand  others,  and  bidding  you  hasten  there.  And, 
aged  pilgrims,  who  can  remember  yet,  with  a  quivering 
heart  and  a  tearful  eye,  how,  long,  long  since,  you  knelt 
at  a  pious  mother's  side,  and  said  your  evening  prayer, 
—  till  on  one  sad  evening  you  said  your  prayer  alone, 
and  thought,  at  "  Our  Father  which  art  in  heaven," 
that  now  you  had  a  mother  there  too  ;  —  think  that  she 
has  watched  you  all  through  your  course  in  life,  and 
that  now  from  her  place  of  rest  she  speaks  and  says, 
Son,  "  come  up  hither  !  " 

You  are  going  away,  my  friends,  from  this  house  of 
prayer  ;  and  no  one  here  can  tell  how  these  words 
now  spoken  may  affect  you.  You  may  regard  all  that 
has  been  said  of  this  Great  Voice  from  heaven,  as 
nothing  more  than  the  fancy  of  the  preacher  ;  or  you 
may  hereafter  keep  your  attention  awake  to  that  mighty 
sound,  which  in  sober  earnest  is  about  your  daily  path, 
and  which  mingles  in  your  ear  with  the  voices  of  your 
daily  companions.  You  have  heard  the  like  a  hun- 


306  THE  GREAT  VOICE  FROM  HEAVEN. 

dred  times  before,  on  a  hundred  previous  Sabbaths  ; 
and  you  may  fancy  that  you  are  now  just  what  you 
were  then  ;  and  that  hereafter,  just  as  you  are  now, 
you  may  hear  and  consider  the  gospel  invitation  else 
where.  But,  my  friends,  you  are  not  the  same  ;  you 
have  used  up  so  many  weeks'  or  months'  quantity  of 
your  little  allotment  of  life  ;  and  now  there  remains  so 
much  the  less,  and  you  are  so  much  nearer  the  end 
of  whatever  path  you  are  treading.  Since  every  night 
you  must  pitch  your  tent  a  day's  march  nearer  some 
home,  oh  that  through  the  wilderness  of  this  world 
you  may  be  striving  upwards  to  the  promised  land ! 
And  there  is  another  thing  in  which  you  are  not  the 
same.  You  are  more  grown  into  good  or  evil,  more 
bent  upon  heaven  or  earth,  than  when  you  heard  the 
gospel-call  last ;  for  every  time  you  hear  it  and  resist 
it,  you  are  encasing  your  heart  in  a  flinty  armor,  that 
will  turn  off  the  arrows  of  conviction  when  they  reach 
it  next.  If  you  care  less  for  what  has  been  said  to 
day,  than  you  did  for  the  last  appeal  you  heard  like  it, 
—  then  fear,  my  friend,  lest  by  an  insidious  progress, 
the  great  Adversary  is  leading  you  downwards  to  his 
realm  of  woe.  And  if  so,  plant  your  feet  as  on  the 
rock,  and  take  not  one  step  farther ;  for  to-morrow 
may  end  your  path,  and  to-day  is  the  accepted  time. 
Repent,  believe,  obey;  praying  for  the  Spirit's  aid, 
and  trusting  in  the  Saviour's  grace  ;  and  it  may  be 
that  you  are  not  yet  too  late,  if  so  you  continue  in 
the  downward  path  not  one  moment  longer.  But  if, 


THE  GREAT  VOICE  FROM  HEAVEN.     307 

treacling  the  upward  way,  you  listen  to  the  voices  that 
float  around  it,  till  they  grow  familiar  to  your  ear  as 
your  mother's  voice,  and  sweet  like  that  of  your  na 
tive  river  ;  —  till  the  habit  of  attention  grows  into  your 
soul,  and  their  ever-regarded  sound  always  warms 
and  cheers  and  swells  your  heart;  —  oh,  what  a  happy 
meeting  that  will  be,  when  your  sun  is  set  and  your 
journey  finished,  —  when  the  voices  that  called  you 
coming  shall  welcome  you  come,  —  when  the  voices 
which  came  sweetly  from  afar,  and  sounded  pleasant 
even  amid  the  world's  din,  shall  be  sweeter  yet  close 
at  hand,  as  they  stir  the  leaves  of  the  tree  of  life,  and 
melt  away  upon  that  tranquil  sea  ;  —  when  many  holy 
ones  and  dear  ones  shall  crowd  around  you,  and  greet 
you  now  grown  pure  and  holy  as  themselves,  —  in  ac 
cents  so  familiar  and  friendly  that  you  will  feel  you 
are  now  at  last  at  home.  And  then,  more  conscious 
of  the  soul's  great  worth,  and  more  bent  upon  the 
bliss  of  others,  you  will  add  your  own  to  that  Great 
Voice  which  from  heaven  calls  to  all  on  earth,  and 
says,  —  "  Come  up  hither !  " 


THE    END. 


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4         A  Lia  of  Books  Publifhed 

, 

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by   TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  5 

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6         A  Lift  of  Books  Publifhed 
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by   TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  7 

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8         A  Lift  of  Books  Publifhed 
Mrs.  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe. 

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by   TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  9 

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[POETRY.] 

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ID       A  Lift  of  Books  Publifhed 


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by   TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  11 


[PROSE.] 
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12       A  Lift  of  Books  Publifhed 


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by   TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  13 


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14       A  Lift  of  Books  Publifhed 


Mo  WATT'S  (ANNA  CORA)  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  AN  AC 
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"  "  PLAYS.    ARMAND  AND  FASH 

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by    TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  15 


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16       A  Lia  of  Books  Publifhed. 


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